


You drown your heroes in red wine

by magicalsparrow



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Reality, Angst, Car Accidents, Coma, Falling In Love, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Oblivious Louis, Pining Harry, Protective Harry, Temporarily Unrequited Love, yep that's about it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-29
Updated: 2015-07-16
Packaged: 2018-02-15 08:05:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2221671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magicalsparrow/pseuds/magicalsparrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's strange how one day this person is your very best friend. The one who's always there, lighting up your world, making you happy and just generally being the center that keeps you from spinning away.</p><p>Then the next day, this person gets into a severe accident and barely makes it out alive.</p><p>Everything changes after that, something Harry never once asked to experience himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This purely made up fanfiction begins at the end of One Direction's Take Me Home tour, in a universe where the hype around Larry Stylinson never grew out of proportions and Louis never dated Eleanor.
> 
> I am in no way claiming that any of this has ever happened, nor that what I've written is particularly enjoying on any level. In fact it's probably the opposite. Anyway. English most definitely isn't my native language, so bear with me and all my terrible mistakes. Other than that, enjoy!
> 
> OH wait! I almost forgot. Title is taken from Miriam Bryant's "Push Play" and has got absolutely nothing to do with the story whatsoever. Because I'm a retard who lacks any common sense of choosing fitting titles. Still like the song though.  
> OK BYE :)))

Finally. A few blessed moments of silence and darkness where he’s allowed to catch his breath before it all evolves tenfold in a fashion that’s become a frequent recurrence over the course of the past few years. Because that’s the raging life of a famous pop star. The life of _him_ , what with being a member of the most wanted boy band in the world, and all that _._

The _whole_ world. Like. Shit.

That particular piece of information sometimes hits Harry with such a staggering force that he practically loses his mind, very nearly causing him to just want to let loose and scream out loud the surrealism of the whole situation until he passes out and wakes up in a world where things make some kind of sense again.

Times like now, for example. He probably needs to calm down a bit.

Harry inhales deeply before opening his eyes to face his own reflection in the bathroom mirror. He swiftly reaches for the tap and cups his hands underneath the flowing water before splashing it onto his face, only spending half a mind on the recently applied makeup that might just have gotten kind of ruined.

The cool liquid soothingly trickles down Harry’s skin, fresh little droplets making their way past his lips while the tangled mess inside his head is gradually being formed into somewhat coherent thoughts once again.

Soon they’ll enter the stage and step into the bright spotlights, just like the previous day, and the day before that. Thousands of eager fans have all proven their dedication once again by giving their valuable time and money away to gather inside this very building tonight, only to get to see a bunch of young boys - nearly men now - do what they love. See them sing and talk while goofing around with each other in front of their eyes. It’s sick. Completely mental is what it is.

Harry’s momentarily startled when there’s a sudden knock coming from the other side of the bathroom door, followed by a gentle voice that he’d be able to pick out amongst hundreds was he asked to.

“Harry, are you okay? We’re supposed to go on stage in five minutes.”

He quickly glances back towards the mirror, noting how his lips have automatically turned up in the corners, forming a small smile.

Harry responds with a sincere, “Yeah Lou, I’m fine. Perfect even,” because while this incredible reality will always be overwhelming and intimidating, he doesn’t have to face it alone. Four other boys are all standing by his side, experiencing the exact same thing while simultaneously being the amazing, lovable friends that he’s grown so impossibly close to during their time as One Direction. He truly is living the dream.

Still there’s this, this _something_ deep inside of him that’s creeping up and making its presence known whenever the hype dies down around him. Something that’s silently gnawing on his mind, craving for attention and begging to be discovered and acknowledged like it deserves. As if it would make such a big difference, make him see what’s still missing.

Harry just can’t understand what it is.

The energy is buzzing through their bodies as they make their way backstage, high on adrenaline and revelling in the fact that the Australian hoard of fans is still screaming their names to the top of their lungs.

“Wooho!” Zayn hollers, fist pumping in the air. “What an incredible night!”

“Yes, indeed!” Liam laughs in agreement. “Down under certainly haven’t disappointed us once.”

Harry’s face is nearly split in half due to the huge grin spread over his mouth and he can’t resist but take a few jumps into the air, erupting an ear piercing roar of his own. Unsurprisingly he crashes into a body the next second, more specifically a laughing Niall who pats his back before recklessly shoving him off in another direction.

How very considerate.

“If this concert wasn’t completely out of this world,” Niall states loudly. “Then there´s like, zero hope for humanity.”

Harry somehow regains his balance, straightening up again. “I know right! The crowd was so loud I-“

And longer he doesn´t make it before a solid weight lands upon his back, strong legs and slender arms wrapping around him like an octopus.

“We’re on top of the world!” Louis screams into his ear and Harry honestly would reprimand him for making him deaf but. He’s weak when it comes to happy Louis. Sue him.

Harry chuckles and grabs hold of Louis’ thighs, hoisting him higher while rushing wildly in the general direction of their changing room. Or is that the door leading outside? He’s not quite sure. It’s admittedly hard to think straight when you’re full of post concert glee and laughing your arse of while carrying your monkey of a best friend around. Especially when said best friend decides to cover your eyesight.

“Take away your hands you idiot, I can’t see anything!” Harry giggles and keeps running despite himself.

“Oh no, no. You’re the one who put yourself in this situation, dear Harold,” Louis ponders smugly, smile evident in his voice. “Might as well make your own way out of it.”

“Well that’s just unfair!” Harry sputters. “You’re the one who-”

“Hush,” Louis cuts him off effectively. “Details, details.”

“You’re so full of shit Lou,” Harry grumbles.

Louis just laughs.

Harry lets go of Louis’ right leg (and maybe, kind of also feels like the Hulk for so effortlessly holding his weight up only by one arm), searching for any nearby door handle that might resemble the one leading to the dressing room. Cold metal grazes his fingertips and he feels the victory coming.

Except. One second later they’re both laying on the floor in a heap of wires and other uncomfortable stuff that one would put in…some kind of storage room?

“Huh.” Harry blinks. “Well that didn’t go as expected.”

He turns his head only to lay eyes upon Liam’s amused expression in the doorway. “Guys, the dressing room is next door,” he simply informs before sauntering off with a shaking head, most likely wondering why he’s still socializing with such idiots.

It does take Harry some effort to sit up straight. His shoulder kind of hurts where it hit an unidentifiable object, but he’s not going to complain over it. He’s that much of a man, thank you very much.

Harry glances over at Louis who’s been remarkably quiet since they stumbled into the room. He’s still lying right next to Harry, eyes closed. He observes Louis’ frame, eyes roaming from head to toe before settling on his passive facial expression once again. He’s not moving an inch.

“Lou?” he asks after another beat of silence. “Louis, are you alright?” Harry places a hand on his arm, shaking gently. No answer.

“Louis?” he tries again, louder this time. Silence. Nothing but complete and utter silence.

His blood runs cold.

No. No, no, _no._ This is not happening.

“Louis, answer me!”Harry shouts, but Louis remains impassive and quiet.

Harry’s mind starts spinning because Louis is still lying so _still_ on the fucking floor and Harry can’t even get his hands moving to check for injuries or control Louis’ breathing. If he’s breathing, that is.

Fuck. _Fuck_. Harry’s got to do something. But his limbs won’t cooperate and he remains frozen to the ground, paralysed sans for the shaking raking through his body. Everything’s a fucking blurry mess. He can’t do this.

_What if Louis doesn't wake up?_

And then Louis starts laughing. Right out guffawing while clutching his stomach like a little kid who’s just pranked the whole fucking royal court of Great Britain.

“Oh my God! Harry you should see your face!” Louis wheezes between bouts of laughter.

Harry’s incapable of doing anything but stare. All sorts of terrifying feelings must be written all over his face clear as day, but he’s too bloody overwhelmed to even try to school his features into something less horrific. Because.

Louis’ laughing. He’s not dead, nor hurt. He’s quite possibly completely fine even.

And Harry’s going to kill him.

“I’m gonna kill you.”

The little fucker looks up then, blue eyes filled with sparkling mirth, an innocent smile gracing his lips. “No you’re not”.

Harry sighs heavily and burrows his face in his hands, feeling sick after narrowly avoiding the breakdown that was about to come over him. “Oh believe me, I am,” he mutters bitterly. “You’ve no idea how much I actually hate you right now.”

It’s not like he isn’t relieved that Louis is whole and healthy, because he is. Frighteningly much so. But he’s also really fucking pissed that Louis thought it would be fun to joke about being unconscious. Out of all the stupid things Louis has ever done, this might just take the prize.

 “Aw Haz, you don’t mean that,” Louis chirps, sounding no more bothered than before.

And something within him just snaps.

“Fuck Louis!” Harry bursts out and flies up to a standing position, feet planted to the ground as his eyes glare down at Louis. “How can you possibly find it funny that you just almost scared the fucking life out of me!? I thought that you’d hit your head and were seriously hurt! You could have been dead for all I knew!” His voice bounces off of the walls of the small room, lingering in the air as he keeps his gaze steady on Louis, heavy breaths escaping his lips. There’s no trace of humour left in Louis’ expression as he stares back up at him, startled eyes wide open and mouth slightly agape. He looks utterly shocked, bordering on afraid.

And just like that all the anger whooshes out of Harry. His eyes slip shut as he inhales deeply and shakily slumps against the nearest wall, feeling overwhelmingly lethargic all of a sudden.

“I - I’m. I didn’t,” Louis begins hesitantly before trailing off. Harry hears rustling, glances up, and finds that Louis has risen to his feet as well. “I’m sorry. I h.”

“Then you obviously don’t know me,” Harry drones.

“Haz don’t. I didn’t mean to upset you, okay? It was stupid and reckless, I get it and I’m sorry. Can you ever forgive me?”

Louis speaks slowly, voice uncharacteristically quiet and tentative, looking small and genuinely sorry where he’s standing with his arms hanging limp by his side. And Harry suddenly feels like shit.

“No, no. I mean. Yes, of course I forgive you. It shouldn’t even have been a big deal to begin with. I overreacted. I’m sorry for yelling at you. I just…” Harry clears his throat, attempting to swallow down the lump that's formed inside. “You mean so much to me,” he finally says earnestly. “If something actually happened to you, I honestly don’t know what I would do. I mean, just thinking about it…”

Harry’s lips merely twitch into a sad smile when he doesn’t manage to finish the sentence. And then he finds himself being tugged into Louis’ embrace, arms wrapping tightly around his shoulders, cheek pressing against his neck. Harry lets his head tilt to the side, nose nuzzling into the soft, brown strands tickling his skin and reaches his arms out to encircle Louis’ waist, hugging back just as firmly.

“You mean a whole lot to me as well.” Louis murmurs, warm breath ghosting over Harry’s skin.

They stand like that for a moment, just holding each other. Harry almost melts as Louis proceeds to snake a hand into his hair and pull lightly on a few stray curls in the nape of his neck. Slowly he drifts his hand along Louis’ back in reciprocation. Up, and down, and up again, thumb ghosting lightly over the little knobs of Louis’ spine.

“Do you still hate me?” Louis asks timidly, a hint of teasing in his voice.

“'Course not. I could never hate you.” Harry sighs, more quietly adding, “Even though you sometimes make me wish I could.”

Harry collapses gratefully in the comfortable airplane seat, heaving out an impressive sigh. He’s exhausted. Touring really can be a great pain in the ass when it comes to sleep. Or the lack of, more like.

 He fumbles after his phone in the pocket of his jeans and glances at the screen. 23:22. The plane should lift in eight minutes then. That’s good. That means he’ll hopefully be asleep in half an hour, and sleeping is good.

“Oh God.” Louis slumps down heavily in the seat next to him, looking just as weary as Harry feels. He’s long gone abandoned his stage outfit, instead donning a pair of loose track pants and a grey, long sleeved running shirt that’s seen its fair share of tricky football manoeuvres by now. Harry kind of wants to cuddle him.

“Tired?” Harry wonders.

“That’d be quite the understatement, to be honest” Louis answers. Then he smiles. “Still hyped for Tokyo though. Was a right blast when we were there in the beginning of the year. You know, in the 'great land of colourful and loud little animated people’.”

Harry ponders this. “Sounds like your people.”

Louis snorts. “Can’t really see how I’m animated,. But I suppose the other ones might be mildly accurate.”

Harry focuses his gaze on Louis’ profile then, mouth speaking on its own accord before his brain manages to catch up. “You do look kind of animated though.”

Louis turns to look at him bemusedly, amusement clear in the slight upturn of his lips. “What do you mean?”

Harry barely even knows what he means. “Um. Like, your face.”

“What?” Louis laughs. “Harry go home, you’re drunk.”

Harry chuckles softly. “No, but. Your features. Like, they somehow remind me of a manga boy or summat. And your hair. Total anime material right there.” Harry runs a hand through Louis’ light brown hair, sweeping a few strands out of his eyes. “All long and wild and messy.”

Louis blinks. “Don’t really know whether to feel complimented or insulted after that revelation, mate”

“Complimented, obviously. I never insult my friends.” Harry explains, with a smirk adding, “Unlike you.”

Louis gasps, mocking a shocked expression. “I am perfectly nice to my friends!”

“Yeah, when you want to be. Which happens to be like, never.”

Louis throws a light punch on Harry’s arm, muttering _asshole_ under his breath before yawning and reminding them both of how tired they really are.

A comfortable silence settles over them, and soon the speaker rustles to life in the cabin, their captain wishing them a happy flight before it’s time for the plane to take off into the dark night sky. Harry looks out the little window, admiring the many thousands city lights of Melbourne growing smaller and smaller as the plane rises higher and higher. Wonder how long it’ll take before they’re back on Australian ground again.

Louis has sunk even further into his plush seat by now, body relaxed and eyes closed, face completely slack. Harry’s gut twists painfully when the picture of Louis’ body in a similar state, lying seemingly unconscious on the floor, appears on his retina. He quickly looks away and tries to ignore the slight quickening pace of his heart, the way his hands turn a bit clammy on his lap. Fuck, why is he overreacting like this? Even now, several hours after what was only a stupid joke for God’s sake, he goes all anxious thinking about it.

“Haz, what’s with the frowny face?” Louis asks suddenly, interrupting Harry’s thoughts. Louis proceeds to poke a finger into Harry’s cheek where his dimple would be. “Flash a little smile for Lou, will you?”

Louis grins lazily and lovely, and fuck it if Harry can actually deny him anything. So he smiles.

“Good boy,” Louis approves, patting Harry on the cheek. “Wanna cuddle so we can get some proper rest?”

Harry’s smile grows just that much bigger. “Always.”

“It's settled then,” Louis confirms, shuffling closer to Harry now that they’re allowed to take their seat belts off again. Louis tilts his head against Harry’s shoulder on a content exhale, sitting close enough for their entire sides to touch, bodies pressed together from shoulder to knee. Harry leans his head against Louis’ while extending an arm to place around his narrow shoulders, allowing his eyelids to fall shut. Harry’s thumb finds the sharp outlining of Louis’ collarbone, soothingly stroking back and forward in small motions.

He still feels like he needs to say something before sleep takes over them.

“Lou? Still awake?” Harry questions timidly. A weak grunt comes from somewhere beneath Harry’s head. He takes that as a yes.

“Can you promise me one thing?”

“Depends,” Louis mumbles. “What is it?”

Harry clears his throat lightly. “I, uh…” he starts dumbly. The right words won’t really come to him. How very unusual.

“Just out with it, Harold,” Louis prompts with a chuckle. His hands are playing with the hem of Harry’s shirt now, fingers stroking lazily at the worn fabric, finding a lose thread to wire around his pinkie. It’s oddly comforting to watch, easier than to meet Louis’ inquisitive eyes at any rate.

Harry takes a breath. “I know this is ridiculous, but you really scared me before Lou, and… Can you just promise to never do that again? Not as a joke, and definitely not for real. I’ll even go as far as to forbid you to ever get physically hurt, you hear that? Because I need you, and my poor soul wouldn’t be able to handle it if you actually...yeah, you know.” To Harry’s embarrassment his voice goes wobbly at the end and his eyes start stinging with the promise of tears. Seriously what’s wrong with him? Louis is _fine_ for God’s sake. Harry’s honestly pathetic.

“Oh Haz,” Louis sighs, voice filled with guilt. “I’m so sorry, I really am.” He tips his head up to place an apologizing kiss to Harry’s jaw. “I promise I’ll never, ever do it again. I don’t even know how I got the idea in the first place,” he mumbles, lips still pressed lightly against Harry’s skin. He moves away a fracture, tone soft as he continues. “But it’s not quite as easy as to just promise that I’ll never get hurt.”

“I know,” Harry admits belatedly, swallowing and willing the wetness in his eyes to go away already. “Will you please do it anyway?” he pleads desperately before he can stop himself, because apparently his mind is now prone to stupidly irrational thinking only. He blames all these emotions. They’re fucking him up.

Harry chances a glance downwards to find Louis looking up at him, eyes appearing slightly bewildered, but understanding all the same. At least Louis isn’t laughing at him. He appreciates that.

“Okay,” Louis says softly after a moment, taking hold of Harry’s free hand and squeezing reassuringly. “I promise.”

Sweet relief washes through Harry. Harry who basically just made his best friend promise that he’ll never get injured. It’s so bloody ridiculous that he kind of wants to question his whole existence. Still, a promise is a promise after all, and - even though he can’t for the life of him understand _why_ – it does very nearly feels as if the weight of the world has been lifted from his shoulders, tension gradually easing its way out of his body.

“Thanks,” Harry says sincerely. “Like, I know it’s stupid to feel-”

“No Harry, stop that,” Louis interrupts and immediately sits up straight, looking determined when he seeks eye contact with Harry. “It’s okay, really. It’s not stupid at all. You’re allowed to feel whatever it is you feel. We can’t control our feelings, no matter how much we’d like to, so there’s no point in trying to make them go away.” He looks down, fringe falling forward to cover an eye. “You even feared I was dead, I mean, you’ve got every right to be upset.” Louis’ gaze raises again, expression open and honest. “I would have been if it was you.”

Apparently Louis wants Harry to start crying, or else he would have spared himself the trouble of saying _that._ To Harry’s utter frustration, a small tear does manage to escape from the corner of his eye, and he immediately looks away to prevent Louis from seeing it. But of course he isn’t quick enough.

Louis places a gentle hand under Harry’s chin, carefully turning his head back so that they’re facing each other, wiping the tear away with his thumb.

“Haz,” he says kindly a moment later. “You do realize that you have to promise me something as well now. It’s really only fair you know.” The usually ever present cheekiness in Louis’ voice is appearing again, bringing back a very welcome sense of normalcy.

As subtly as possible, Harry makes an attempt at wiping away what’s still lingering of the salty liquid in his eyes. He fails quite miserably on the subtle part, but his eyes feel mostly dry now so. That’s something.

“Oh, yeah? What then?” he wonders in reply, lips turning up slightly in the corners.

“That you’ll put this behind you right this second, and not, you hear me, _not_ go and dwell on it like I know you have a tendency to do whenever something’s upset you.” Louis’ watching him with a stern expression, hand placed steadily on Harry’s shoulder.

 “I’ll…try?”

Louis looks highly unimpressed at that.

“Okay,” Harry gives in with a heavy sigh when Louis remains silent. “I promise.”

Louis’ smile is so sudden and radiant that Harry barely can stand looking at him. That boy really is the damn sun. There’s just no other plausible explanation.

“Good.” Louis’ hand travels down Harry’s arm affectionately before he returns to his previous position, leaning against Harry and efficiently pressing their bodies together. “Now sleep.”

“Will do,” Harry murmurs in response. “G’night Lou.”

“Night Harry.”

And if a tinge of uneasiness stubbornly remains somewhere in the pit of Harry’s stomach, who’s Louis to know?


	2. Chapter 2

“Do you reckon Mario candy is any good?”

They're back at the hotel after having recorded an interview for a Japanese TV-show, and Louis is currently inspecting the contents of the mini fridge inside his and Harry's shared room.

“What?” Harry asks curiously and walks over to him.

Louis emerges from behind the fridge door before shutting it close with his hip, holding a colourful package with a running Super Mario and Japanese characters printed all over it.

“I think it is some type of candy. Not sure though,” Louis says, eyeing it suspiciously.

“Well,” Harry shrugs. “There’s only one way to find out.” He grins and grabs the package, opening it at as he throws himself onto their bed. His bed. Whatever. He doesn't really know whether to deem it as one bed or two since there are essentially two different mattresses on two different bed frames, but they’re also put right beside each other, forming one huge bed altogether. It’s indeed a question worth thinking about.

The small, block shaped sweets are wrapped in a slit of paper each. Harry unwraps one and pops it into his mouth.

Louis plops down beside him. “What’s the verdict then?” he questions, half smile gracing his lips.

Harry chews the piece slowly. “It’s really chewy,” he settles on eventually. “Kind of like the type of toffee that gets stuck in your teeth, but with a sweet, fruity taste instead.” He turns to Louis, offering the package with a smile. “Try one, they’re good.”

Louis glances at the package, then up at Harry. “Okay,” he complies, reaching for one himself.

They’ve got a few hours to kill inside the hotel before the show starts, thankfully not having any interviews or other duties to implement, as opposed to previous days. So here they are, Liam skyping with Sophia in his own room, Niall and Zayn on a quick trip to the private hotel bar and Louis and Harry lazing around in their bed munching on nutritious provisions. It’s a nice way to spend the afternoon.

A game show is playing when they manage to turn the TV on, and sure they can’t understand any words for shit, but it’s hilarious nonetheless. Four contestants are perched on top of a huge wall made out of cardboard boxes, and it all comes down to staying on said wall as long as possible while the most random attackers try to destroy it, causing the competitors to fall down one by one.

Harry winces sympathetically as a gang of bad ass sumo wrestlers appear, barrelling in to the carton wall and taking half the thing down with them. Ouch. Only two frantically screaming girls left then.

Harry unfolds another chewy candy thing and- Wait. There’s another piece of paper.

“What’s this?” he asks incredulously, holding up a small image of a grinning Mario.

Louis gasps and grabs the little picture, staring at it wide eyed.

“What? What is it?” Harry’s pretty sure he’s missing something.

“It’s a tattoo!” Louis exclaims, looking at Harry in excitement. “You know, one of those temporary ones you wet with water and then place on your skin and - Oh my God, I gotta have one as well.” Louis throws tattoo Mario aside and starts peeling sweets in a flourish. “I hope I get Luigi.” No tattoo in that one. Nor in that one. “If there’s only one in each package,” still none, “I swear I’m gonna fucking- Yes!” Louis grins victoriously, showcasing his own catch, and his smile diminishes a fracture.

Harry lets out a cackle, because it’s not Luigi as much as Princess Peach who stares back at them innocently, all golden locks and pink gowns.

Louis rolls his eyes. “Of _course_ I get the fucking princess. Oh well,” he shrugs. “Doesn’t really change anything. C’mon.”

Harry gets mercilessly dragged into the bathroom where they make to plaster the things onto themselves. It goes quite flawlessly (unless you count the fact that Harry kind of manages to soak his shirt in the process), resulting in Mario now facing forward on Harry’s right shoulder and Princess Peach in a significant place on Louis’ left one.

“We look like twins,” Harry grins.

Louis snorts. “Not really, Mario and Peach aren’t looking that much alike.”

“Well, no,” Harry counters. “But they are from the same game, so we’re matching at any rate.”

“Suppose I can’t argue with that one.”

They’re observing themselves in the bathroom mirror and Harry smiles when a thought hits him.

“Hey, Lou?” They lock eyes in the glass and Harry waggles his eyebrows. “Now they can kiss every time we hug.”

Louis looks like he wants to hit Harry in the head a couple of hundred times and then jump out the window. “Oh my God,” he says and actually smacks Harry in the head, thankfully not running to the window. “You’re so dumb.”

“What? I think it’s cute!” Harry laughs.

“You would, Harry Styles. You would.” Louis sounds disapproving, but he’s also smiling so he really can’t think the worst of him.

Harry goes to find a dry shirt, picking a simple black one before returning to bed. On the television a commercial for what seems to be pasta is playing, a group of enthusiastically dancing people doing their best to advertise it to tacky music. Hopefully they get a decent pay for it.

The duvet appears to be entirely covered in candy wrappings now, Louis sitting cross legged in the middle with a small pile of bare sweets lying in front of him. He turns the package upside down as if to see if there’s possibly one more remaining stuck inside. There isn’t.

“What are you doing?” Harry wonders, sitting down next to him.

“Checking for more tattoos. Seems like a package only contains two though, seeing as these were all plain.” Louis gestures to the unwrapped candies.

“Oh,” Harry says, nicking one of them.

“I wonder how many of the characters you can get altogether,” Louis hums, setting the small box aside and leaning back on his hands.

“We could always raid the others’ fridges and see what their packages contain,” Harry suggests, smiling widely when it evokes a bright laugh from Louis.

“We could,” Louis agrees. “Start a proper collection and everything.” A moment of silence passes before he speaks again. “Did you ever collect anything when you were younger?”

The question takes Harry a bit off guard. “Um... I dunno. I guess coins for a little while when I was like, ten. Wasn’t very exciting.”  He turns to Louis, eyebrows raised. “Why?”

“Nah, just came to think of it. I used to throw myself over anything related to Power Rangers, if that counts.” Louis sends Harry a half smile.

“Somehow that does not surprise me,” Harry says amusedly and lies down onto his back, stretching out his slightly stiff joints. A yoga session within the near future probably wouldn’t be a bad idea.

“I think I’d like to collect something again,” Louis reveals mindfully. “Could be fun.”

“You already own quite an established assortment of Vans. Why not buy some more and you’ll have a proper gigantic collection within no time?"

Louis seems to consider this. "I might just take you upon that suggestion. I mean, Vans kind of are my thing, so what would be better, really?” Louis lies down as well, front facing Harry, hand stretching out toward him. “Thank you for your advice. You’re a wonderful shrink.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” Harry chuckles in response, shaking Louis' hand.

Being out of candy (there were like fifteen pieces in the package, don’t judge) they decide to call room service and order some proper food - Japanese, to be exact, because _we’re in Japan, we simply have no choice but to eat Japanese food, Harry_.

Soon enough a few rapid knocks come from the door, and Louis forces Harry to go get it by pushing him off the bed. Evil bastard.

It’s their first experience of the hotel’s restaurant food, curtesy to having eaten dinner from other places the three days they’d already spent there. And to say that it’s a surprise to see what’s served on their plates is not an understatement, since they just might have ordered the two things with the weirdest names on the whole menu. Without checking the English description. Not the smartest move, perhaps, but Harry has got to admit that the fried (?) things in front of him do look quite enticing.

“The fuck is this?” Louis snorts, stabbing a small, stuffed ball of meat that’s bordering on drowning in what must be some kind of soya sauce. He narrows his eyes. “Is it stuffed with an onion?”

“It looks like scallion,” Harry admits, turning back to his own food. A loud moan comes from his left a second later.

“Oh my God, it’s delicious! Harry, you gotta taste this.”

They switch plates back and forward until all that’s left are the remnants of some out right fucking _burning_ , green bundles. If it’s possible to eat a whole and survive is nothing they plan to find out anytime soon. Nor ever really.

Now contentedly full and seated in the sofa, they’re leaning against the arm rests opposite each other, feet tangled together in the middle. The TV is still playing, though neither of them really pays attention to it anymore, because while all the comical sound effects and bright animations make Japanese television a whole lot more fun than British, not understanding do gets admittedly boring after a while.

“Hey,” Louis nudges a toe into Harry’s calf. “Can you believe that we only have one single concert left?” He sounds awe struck. “The tour will be over tonight. In just a few hours it’ll all be over.”

“I know,” Harry responds softly. “It feels so weird. We’ve been on the road for so long that I don’t know if I know how to not be now.”

Louis cracks a smile. “Same.” He slides his feet up the front of Harry’s shins and leans further back into the cushions, disappearing from view. ”Honestly though - it’ll be one hell of a nice break that I’m gonna sleep away every second of. No arguments.”

Harry straightens his legs so he can see Louis’ face again. “But I thought we were gonna rededicate our flat by hanging out in there for a week without going outside,” he says, eyebrows furrowing. “Can’t do if you lie in your bed sleeping all the time.”

Louis grins, patting Harry’s leg reassuringly. “Don’t worry, you’re invited too.”

“To what?” Harry asks, lips tilting into a smirk. “Sleep with you in your bed?”

“Exactly that,” Louis winks, then as an afterthought adds, “Or yours, if you’d rather prefer that.”

“No, no, either’s fine by me,” Harry smiles back, toes wiggling slightly where they’re now placed underneath Louis’ thighs.

Harry doesn’t mind in the slightest, of course he doesn’t. They’ve shared beds so many times by now that it’s not even worth trying to recall just how high the number might be. Countless movie nights (and other random nights, for that matter) had ended with them shutting their eyes right then and there whenever fatigue came to be too much - great times that often included the other boys as well.

But there were also these other times, when it was just Louis and him. Like when it’d been a particularly bad day and they sought comfort in each other, whispering consoling words while holding each other tightly, refusing to let go until they were both smiling again.

Except for how they usually didn’t let go then either.

It had always felt so natural, so _safe,_ to fall asleep and wake up with Louis’ body next to him. Harry had never really questioned the matter, just accepted it and simply been grateful for the fact that boundaries never really had existed between him and Louis, leading them to sharing beds in the first place. It wasn’t like Harry couldn’t sleep without Louis, his own bed worked just splendidly on its own, but he always woke up _that_ much more rested whenever they shared the same bed.

Harry smiles to himself, because all in all, a week’s worth of nights like that doesn’t sound all too bad.

The last concert starts and ends in the blink of an eye. One second Harry’s standing on stage, belting out the lyrics to Up All Night, and the next they’re out the doors, on the way back to the calm of the hotel.

Thinking back, the Japanese fans had been absolutely amazing both nights. And so _quiet_ in comparison with their usual crowds. Not in a bad way though, more like a ‘we’re-just-being-respectful-by-genuinely-listening-to-your-music’ kind of way. It had felt fantastic at any rate, and Harry had pushed himself to give it his all this one last time, knowing that many of the songs were never going to be sung in front of an audience again - which was kind of sad, in a way. But having been performed in a total of 129 concerts still was rather impressive.

To put it simply, it had pretty much been a great end to a great tour, and now it was time to face forward again, eyes set on new goals and milestones.

But first some rest. After coming down from the raging post concert high, that is.

They all somehow end up in Niall’s hotel room, laughing boisterously while popping bottles of absurdly expensive champagne. (If some liquid gets sucked into the carpet and the cork flies into a cabinet with such force it leaves a beautiful dent, no one needs to know.)

Harry is just about to take his first sip when a clinking sound catches his attention.

Louis stands a few feet away, carefully hitting the edge of his phone against his champagne glass, apparently about to hold a speech.

“Guys,” he begins softly. “Can I just have a sentimental moment, and say that it’s been a right pleasure working with you during these more or less eight months on the road?” His eyes sparkle as they wander over them all in turn, lips tilted upwards. ”Sure it’s been fucking hard work at times, but now that the last concert is actually over, and we can look back on it all, we can’t say that it’s been anything but worth it. I mean, the _response_ we’ve had. It’s been absolutely amazing, every single place we’ve been, and-  Yeah.“ He laughs a little. “I guess I just wanna thank you all for making this tour feasible, and for also making it the best experience it could possibly be.“

Louis’ eyes find Harry’s as he utters the last words, expression subtly growing the tiniest bit more sincere, as if thanking Harry specifically. Unrestrained warmth spreads within Harry’s chest as they keep holding each other’s gazes, because let’s face it. Louis makes him happy simply by breathing, and it’s really only fair that Louis receives some kind of payback. So, to every now and again get it confirmed that Harry actually _is_ contributing to Louis’ happiness too, feels a bit like winning gold in the Olympics. Not that Harry knows what _that_ feels like, because he has yet to win an Olympic gold medal (and probably never will, unless he makes a drastic change in professions). But still, he can imagine.

 “Aw, Tommo!” Liam reaches out to catch Louis in a sudden headlock, effectively breaking his and Harry’s eye contact. He ruffles Louis’ hair mercilessly and places a kiss on his temple before letting go. “What a beautiful speech there. Written it yourself?”

Louis makes an attempt at patting down his abused hair, sending a sly smirk Liam’s way. “Why yes, in fact I have, Liam,” he retorts sarcastically. “Spent a total of 20 painful hours on it too so you better shut the hell up and listen to the last two words of it.”

“So much for being sentimental,” Zayn mutters, but Louis simply shrugs and raises his glass into the air with a blinding beam.

“Cheers, lads!” he exclaims joyfully, urging them all to whoop loudly and knock their glasses together. Harry downs the cool, sparkling alcohol in delight, enjoying its slightly sweet taste and the way it tickles on his tongue.

Harry glances back at Louis and notices a strand of brown hair that's still poking out from Louis’ head at an odd angle, so he takes it upon himself to step near and smooth it down.  Louis blinks up at him with a grateful smile, and Harry grins back, hand sliding down to settle on the slender expanse of Louis’ neck.

They are amusedly observing the other three struggling with putting some music on, when all of a sudden the image from a few nights ago of the floor of a storage room in Melbourne jumps to the forefront of Harry’s mind in stark clarity. His breath hitches, body tensing a fraction. Immediately he blinks hard to force it away, because he absolutely refuses to think about that moment now when they’re supposed to be happy and celebrate.

If only these stubborn flashbacks would just stop so Harry could at least get a chance to try and forget about it, like he promised. But they keep appearing when he least expects it, renewing the memory and bringing all the fragmented feelings back along with it as heavy reminders.

Shaking his head slightly, Harry takes a deep breath to level himself and lets his hand caress the warm skin of Louis’ neck, a solid reminder of how very real and here he is.

“Hey, Harry,” Louis turns to him then, putting a gentle hand on his shoulder and squeezing. “We’re going home tomorrow,” he says, sounding full of anticipation and showcasing a smile, apparently having been too preoccupied with laughing at the others to notice Harry’s inner turmoil.

“Yeah,” Harry breathes a moment later, letting the wonderful fact sink in and gradually feeling himself relax again. He can do this. He has to. “We are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have any ideas of what should happen in further chapters you're more than welcome to share your thoughts! I haven't got this fic one hundred percent planned out yet so I'd really appreciate it if you wanted to tell me about any idea of yours :) Feel free to leave kudos and comment (or to not do so, it's entirely up to you) if you enjoyed reading ^^  
> Thank you and have a lovely, lovely day! xx


	3. Chapter 3

It’s seven in the evening when they arrive at Heathrow, and despite having just sat through a 12 hour long flight, Harry is very nearly bursting from excitement because - He’s home. He’s actually _home_ in the U.K. again, and this time it’s not just to stay for a couple weeks and then leave again – No, _this_ time, he won’t have to even look in the direction of an airplane again for the entirety of three whole months.

Frankly, it feels pretty amazing.

They make quick work of gathering their luggage, greeting fans, avoiding unwanted camera-attention and stuffing aforementioned luggage into four different cars. After a round of heart wrenching goodbyes (though not all too heart wrenching, they’ll soon meet again after all) he and Louis separate from Zayn, Liam and Niall who each take off towards their respective homes in London.

“Hello boys! It’s nice seeing your faces again. Was your flight pleasant?” Basil, one of their private chauffeurs greets them with a big smile covering the better part of his face, laugh lines having grown charmingly deeper over the years. He looks dapper as usual in his mandatory black uniform with accompanying hat, making Harry and Louis look awfully out of place in their worn sweats.

“Hey mate! Yeah, the flight was good, although a bit long. But it’s really great to be back again, you know,” Harry answers in delight.

“Oh yeah, tell me about it,” Louis agrees as the three of them open the car doors to enter the vehicle.

Basil sends them a warm look through the rear view mirror. “I’m glad to hear.”

A light drizzle starts falling when they’ve driven no longer than ten metres, and by the time they’ve reached their flat in the outskirts of London it’s literally pouring.

“Fuck,” Louis exclaims, staring out with wide eyes. “Harry we’re gonna drown.”

Louis’ right. It’s raining _copiously_. The heavy smatter above their heads borders on deafening and all the windows are blurring completely due to floods of water running down them. Harry shivers at the mere sight and instinctively lifts his hood up - as if the piece of fabric would actually make a difference against the massive waterfalls and not get completely soaked within seconds. He clears his throat, addressing the chauffeur hopefully, “Basil, you, um… You don’t happen to, by any chance, have an umbrella on you?”

Basil looks at them in sympathy. “No, I’m afraid I don’t.” Louis and Harry’s shoulders drop instantly. “But I’ll help you carry-”

“Oh, no, no!” Louis waves him off immediately. “There’s really no need for you to help us, two drenched boys are more than enough for this adventure. Besides, me and Harry can change as soon as we’re inside, so we’re all good,” Louis reassures and grins good naturedly, thumbs pointing up.

Basil leans back in his seat, chuckling easily. “All right, if you insist. I’d probably just slow you youngsters down anyway,” he pauses, then adds, “Good luck boys! Now hurry out there before the rein gets even worse.”

“I don’t think it’s physically possible for the rain to get any worse than this but - thank you.” Louis squeezes the man’s shoulder before turning his attention to Harry. “On three? It’s just water after all. There might be a chance of survival.”

Harry draws in a breath. He really, really doesn’t want to leave the warmth of the car, but they can’t very well stay in here forever, now can they? Here goes nothing. “Okay.”

“One.” Harry notes a twinge of excitement mingled together with the reluctance in Louis’ eyes, which – okay then. “Two.” Their gazes stay locked, and a sudden thrill sparks through Harry’s spine as well, because they’re gonna throw themselves into this God awful rain and they’re gonna get so wet and _fuck_ why does Louis have to drag him into things like this. Louis whose head is still void of any protection, Harry notices. “Th-”

“Wait!” Harry grabs Louis’ wrist, preventing him from reaching the door handle. Louis raises his eyebrows in surprise. “Your hood,” Harry says by explanation, gesturing vaguely at Louis’ upper back where the hood is still resting. “It’ll help a little at least, lemme just…” Harry folds it up over Louis’ artfully messy hair, tucking all loose strands within the cocoon. “There. All set now,” he hums.

Louis flashes a quick smile from under the edge of the blue textile, letting out a, “Thanks,” followed by a prompt, “Three!” And the next thing Harry knows is he can’t breathe or see because there’s water in his nose and his eyes and just _everywhere_.

Five minutes later, Harry stands fumbling with the key leading to the wooden door of their flat, Louis panting lightly close behind him. Big, fat drops of water are dripping from them in a steady stream, splashing onto the floor in tiny puddles.

It hadn’t been possible to take all bags with them in one go, meaning they’d had to go back to the car before once again sprinting to the building. This summoned three ways back and forward, which was about three ways too much. Now Harry almost regrets having persuaded Louis to pick the one apartment complex with a massive front garden; a garden that’s very beautiful, mind, but also lacks a road made for car passages - which is why Basil had to park outside the garage about 50 miles away from the entrance.

“Can you hurry up a bit?” Louis urges just as Harry’s fingers manage to fit the key into the hole.

“Like you’re one to talk,” Harry retorts, shaking his head. “You’re shivering so much you couldn’t even grab the bloody key.”

“Oh, shut up,” Louis shoves him gently as the lock finally clicks open. Harry stops in his tracks though, not wanting to open quite yet. The moment feels important somehow, almost crucial, like they’re standing in front of the essential precipice between the life of touring and the end of it. And so, Harry decides, it deserves a brief minute’s attention. Eyes falling shut, he stands still and simply breathes in the familiar smell of the hallway, hand resting lightly on the door handle. Before Louis breaks the silence.

“What the hell are you doing?"

“Nothing, really, I’m just… Awaiting the right moment, letting it all sink in,” Harry says slowly, eyes flickering open to meet Louis’, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“Awaiting the right moment?” Louis looks at him in disbelief and Harry nods. The older boy laughs then and rolls his eyes, placing a cool hand on top of Harry’s. “You’re so weird. I believe the right moment has come though, ‘cause I‘m about to freeze my arse off, so.” Louis presses the handle down.

Unsurprisingly it all looks the same, everything exactly as they left it: White walls, bright hardwood floors, a fluffy carpet, a drawer and a cupboard. Harry smiles at the normalcy of their hall, throwing his arms out with an outburst of, “We’re home!”

“We’re home!” Louis parrots.

They proceed to dump all suitcases on the floor – unpacking can wait for later, right now Harry just wants to change into something that’s not sopping wet and snuggle up on the couch with Louis and some blankets.

“Wanna spend the night watching a movie?” Harry questions as they put their shoes away to dry, although he knows Louis will say yes.

“Count me in,” Louis winks and walks off to the right towards his bedroom, huffing while shaking his hair out like a dog, sending water flying in every direction. Harry can’t help but laugh at the sight.

Harry passes through the living room to reach his own chamber, going straight for the wardrobe since the cold has about seeped into his bones by now. Digging through a drawer containing warm, cosy clothes for situations like these, he emerges with a grey sweater and a pair of tracksuit pants. With a fair amount of struggling Harry manages to drag the sticky cloths off of his body and very nearly faints from bliss when the smooth, dry clothes instead lies against his skin.

When Harry enters the living room Louis already lies nestled in his duvet and a bunch of pillows, head on top of headrest and phone held above his face. Harry sneaks up to stand by the short end of the couch, hands coming to rest on either side of Louis’ head.

“Look Harry!” Louis chuckles and angles the phone so Harry can see the screen. “Our tattoos were appreciated.” Harry grins widely at the picture from yesterday’s concert. He remembers it clearly, how the volume of the arena instantly increased and the closest fans started jumping in excitement when he and Louis dragged down their shirts to show off their game characters.

“So they should be. They are very beautiful,” Harry says proudly and takes hold of Louis’ phone, scrolling through the newest comments. “ _Omg are the tattoos real I’m crying why are they doing this to me Louis and Harry are so fucking cute they should marry each other_ ,” he reads out loud, unable to keep the laughter out of his voice. “All written in caps. Well.” He locks the phone and throws it (carefully) onto the soft carpet right beside the sofa, not bothering to stretch and place it on the table since he knows Louis certainly wouldn’t if the roles were reversed. “Glad it was worth the effort. Perhaps we really should make them permanent,” he suggests, waggling his eyebrows at the upside down view of Louis’ face.

The other boy frowns, the idea of having Princess Peach forever inked into his skin apparently not sounding too appealing. “Hell no. We are not having that much fun.”

“I feared as much,” Harry chuckles. “Scoot over. I wanna sit too.”

“No.”

“No?”

“No, I’m not moving,” Louis says. “I’m too comfortable.”

“Is that so? All right, I’ll just settle in myself then.” Harry steps around the furniture, lies himself on top of Louis and wraps his arms firmly around him in one go.

“Fuck Harry,” Louis sputters and laughs weakly, “I can’t breathe, you’re squishing me you big dolt.”

Harry draws back a fracture, smirking small. “Changed your mind then?”

“God yes,” Louis wheezes in response. “Just move the fuck away.”

Harry does, bringing Louis up into a sitting position as well and letting his arm linger around the smaller boy’s waist, feeling reluctant to separate their bodies and break the waves of body heat that are gradually reheating their chilled limbs.

“What d’you want to watch?” Louis asks after a moment, running a hand through his still damp fringe.

“You pick,” Harry shrugs, reaching for the remote control and handing it to Louis who gives a smile back.

“Let’s see if there’s anything on TV. I don’t really feel like searching through our movie stack or Netflix right now.”

“Sounds good to me,” Harry agrees softly, grabbing Louis’ rumpled duvet and draping them in until only their heads are visible above the edge.

After a few zaps between channels and for lack of anything better they settle for _Long kiss goodnight,_ a movie neither of them has seen before, but sounds promising enough based on the description. Like, who doesn’t want to spend the evening watching an American action/crime/drama-film from 1996 following a woman who’s forgotten her troubled past due to a bout of amnesia? It could barely get any better.

Except for how Harry’s never been much of an action/crime/drama-guy, so he doesn’t have too high expectations.

Halfway through when the woman is seemingly undergoing a bad ass makeover to become her former, lethal, top-secret agent self, Harry’s stomach conveniently starts rumbling.

“Was that your stomach?” Louis wonders a beat later.

“Um, it might have been?” Harry answers sheepishly. “Sorry.” He doesn’t know why he apologizes though, because it’s not like he can help it. They hadn’t gotten anything to eat since they sat on the plane and that was (nearly) several hours ago. His belly is in need of some nutrition, damn it.

Louis instantly huddles closer to Harry underneath the cover. “Don’t you leave me,” he reprimands, gripping Harry’s jumper tightly. “I’ve finally started warming up after the rain assault, and I’m in a way too fragile state to let go of my heat source right now. If I do, long lasting damage may be caused. So, sorry not sorry. You have to stay.”

Harry chuckles. “But Lou, I’m hungry.”

“Too bad, ‘cause you’re stuck here until the movie ends,” Louis reasons, glancing up at Harry with an innocent smile.

Harry’s tummy rumbles again.

“All right,” he exhales. “You either let me go get something to eat, or listen to _this,_ ” he points towards his middle, “for another hour. It’s your choice.”

Louis groans, “Harry, you’re such a dick,” but his grip loosens so Harry knows he’s giving in.

Entangling himself from Louis, Harry stands up and beckons the other boy to accompany him, but Louis just shakes his head and sinks further into the pillow nest. Harry shrugs and goes into the kitchen, making his way over to the fridge before he realizes that it’s indeed empty and stops in his tracks. Feeling a bit crestfallen he opens the pantry instead, hoping to find something edible among the dry products. He emerges with an unopened package of digestive biscuits, which isn’t a bad catch at all circumstances considered, but something more would have been nice. That’s when it clicks and Harry recalls he should have a banana left somewhere in his packing. Bingo.

Rushing back into the living room with the yellow fruit poised like a gun at the ready, Harry spontaneously shouts, “Catch or I’ll shoot!” and throws the package of biscuits in Louis’ direction. For a split second he fears it might actually hit Louis since the other boy has yet to look away from the TV-screen, but he really hadn’t needed to worry because the biscuits land on the floor with a load crack about two metres away from the couch. Apparently Harry misjudged the throw a bit.

Louis’ head snaps at the sound, first to the floor and then up at Harry. “Oh. Hi again.” He points at the crushed digestives and hesitantly asks, “Er- was I supposed to catch those?”

Harry scratches the back of his neck with the banana. “Well- yeah but. I guess I didn’t aim very well.”

He glances at Louis and they manage to hold each other’s gazes for approximately two seconds before they both burst out laughing.

“Good _job_ Haz!” Louis drawls sarcastically and slowly claps his hands, though his eyes are still lit up with a smile. “You just killed all the food we had left in this flat. Way to go.”

Sniggering, Harry goes to retrieve the package and plops down beside Louis again. “It wasn’t my fault,” he says in his defence, carefully peeling the plastic cover open. “Had you just paid attention- oh fuck.”

Harry stares wide eyed at the avalanche of crumbs that’s taken residence in his lap while Louis throws his head back in laughter.

Munching on banana and biscuit crumbs, they finish the film. It contains a lot of shooting, bleeding and killing, but none of the main characters die and the ending is happy so Harry kind of approves anyway.

It’s after when they’re just layng back and relaxing, that the fatigue really hits Harry full force. It drags him down deeper and deeper into the cushions and fills his head with a fuzzy cloud that’s blocking every attempt at proper thinking. Oh _God_ is he tired. It almost feels like everything he’s experienced during the last few months - the concerts and the constant chants of _go, go, go_ \- is pretty much crashing down on him right this moment, all at once,  now that he’s finally able to relax for real for the first time in what feels like ages. Sure, they’re releasing an album at the end of the month which inevitably means some scheduled meetings and promo events, but nothing requiring them to leave London.

Harry’s eyelids weigh down like lead as he peeks at Louis, taking in his closed eyes and even breathing, how his chest rises and falls just noticeably at every intake and outtake of air. Warning bells ring at the back of Harry’s mind once again, but he’s just too exhausted to let the haunting memory grow into something of significance. Louis’ fine, more than fine.

“Lou?” he whispers quietly and thumbs gently at Louis’ cheekbone, smiling softly when the only reaction he receives is a slight eyebrow twitch and a barely audible hum of acknowledgement.

Harry knows he doesn’t really have to, because they could spend the night on the couch - have before - but Louis’ neck looks to be straining a bit in that angle and his curled up position in general could quite possibly bring on some unwanted soreness in the morning. So Harry’s really just being a good friend when he carefully scoops Louis up into his arms, and despite feeling like a dead zombie, it’s no feat to carry Louis’ light body over to the closest bed, happening to be Harry’s.

He lowers Louis down onto the mattress, languidly strips down to his boxers and quietly slips in after him, pulling the comforter close. He places a quick goodnight kiss to Louis’ forehead before finally sinking into his pillow like a dead weight, letting the dark of the night consume him completely. The last thing Harry registers is the still persistent smattering of rain outside.

The shrill ringing of a phone wakes Harry with a start. The shrill ringing of _Harry’s_ God damn phone, he realizes a second later. Great.

Scrambling out of bed as quickly as humanly possible when your mind is still half clouded with sleep, Harry stumbles in the direction of the sound. Because why the fuck not, he finds it buried underneath the rumpled pile of yesterday’s clothes and hurriedly sweeps the bar to answer the call when he sees the name on the screen.

“Hi mum,” he smiles into the receiver.

“Hi honey! How are you?” Harry’s chest instantly fills with equal amounts of warmth and longing upon hearing her voice. It’s so easy to picture her right now, sitting at the breakfast table in a dressing robe with a crossword and a steaming cup of coffee in front of her, and it makes him a little sad that it’s such a rare sight nowadays. “You’re back in London now, right?”

“I’m fine, and yeah, arrived yesterday as planned.”

“You never called last night, I felt a bit neglected. You’re not forgetting ‘bout you’re old mum, are you?” She laughs to indicate that she’s joking, but Harry can hear an undertone of sadness beneath the statement. A pang of guilt settles in his gut, because he had promised to call, always did whenever they came back from being away for so long.

Harry swallows. “Mum I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to, I just got so tired, couldn’t even keep my eyes open. Me and Louis just crashed on the couch and I literally had to, like, carry him to bed and-“ He stops rambling and takes a deep breath. “I would never forget you mum, you know that.”

“Oh baby I know,” Anne reassures and Harry can hear the smile in hear voice. “I understand, don’t worry. How is he?” she asks after a short pause.

“Louis?” Harry clambers up from where he had awkwardly remained poised on the floor and throws a glance at the bed, which is very much empty. “Uh, he’s fine. At least I think so. Apparently he woke up before me ‘cause he’s no longer in bed.”

Anne chuckles. “All right. Send him a greeting from me?”

“Will do,” Harry replies sincerely.

They continue talking for a bit, about the upcoming weeks, about Robin’s new job and when Harry can take a visit to Holmes Chapel next time – soon, hopefully – before exchanging ‘love yous’ and ending the call.

Suddenly taking very strong notice to the sour taste in his mouth and the overall greasiness to his appearance, Harry goes to brush his teeth and take a quick shower.

The bathroom is located between his and Louis’ bedrooms. Obviously there’s another one (immediately to the left upon stepping inside the front door, feel welcome) for guests and whoever feels the need to use its facilities. But this one, is their own shared little secret. Or something like that. At least it’s very practical seeing as you can enter it from both Harry’s and Louis’ room. High functionality at its finest really. There are also two of nearly everything else, so they can get ready together without knocking each other down if time is running short. Two sinks, two showers, two cabinets - and so on. Only one toilet though. The line had to be drawn somewhere.

Fresh breath, fresh hair, fresh clothes and Harry is ready to face the world outside of his bedroom.

“There you are!” he greets as he enters the kitchen and catches sight of Louis perched on top of a stool, seemingly digging through the cereal cupboard. “Mum says hi.”

Louis retorts with a, “Say hi back,” before grunting and slumping down onto the counter, feet resting on the seat of the chair. “Give me _food_. Harry, why don’t we have any food? I’m starving,” he whines unhappily. “Look at me, I’m practically wasting away.” Louis makes a show of dramatically clutching his shirt where it hangs loosely around his middle.

Harry shakes his head but can’t help the smile growing on his lips. “You’re such a drama queen,” he says, perhaps sounding a bit fond of the matter. Just because he can, Harry steps close and puts an arm around Louis’ shoulders. The other boy leans into the touch, nose pressing against Harry’s skin on an exhale.

It’s comfortable, Harry thinks, holding another person like this. Shutting his eyes, he slowly strokes the Louis' arm while listening to the steady hum of pouring rain. It has yet to cease even the slightest since yesterday night. Something really tragic must have happened for the sky to be crying like this. It’s a kind of sad thought.

“Hazza?” Louis voices timidly, recapturing Harry’s attention.

“Hm?” His gaze flits to Louis’ profile.

Louis straightens and takes hold of the hand Harry’s got rested on his bicep, linking their fingers together loosely. “We’re living together,” he says simply.

“Yes?” Harry urges a little bemusedly when Louis doesn’t elaborate.

“Do you ever wonder why?” Louis blurts then, a small frown etching his features, “I mean-” His teeth graces his bottom lip in thought. “Zayn, Niall and Liam have all bought their own places by now, like, proper houses. But we, we’re still living like when we first moved in together over two years ago. Sure, the flat is bigger now, but everything else is basically just the same. Just the two of us.” At the end Louis’ voice goes notably quiet. “Isn’t it weird?” He turns to look at Harry, eyes searching.

Harry resolutely ignores the small lump of hurt climbing up his throat. Had Louis wanted to buy a house for himself like the others, after all? But no, they had discussed it, several times even, establishing that they were both still standing on the same page and much preferred to live together than on their own. At least as long as they both were single, anyway. Which they both very much are. Have been, for some time.

If Harry thinks about it, he realises that it’s been quite some time since he felt that really strong longing for a girlfriend. Now the thought of finding a beautiful girl to buy a house and properly settle down with and actually _fall in love_ with, almost frightens him. It doesn’t bring up the bubbling warmth and the lively sparks that made him all giddy and happy like he remembers it did at sixteen. This is also something he rather avoids thinking about.

“Uh.” Harry finally manages to get out, blinking at Louis. “I…guess?”

A snort escapes Louis’ lips and he rolls his eyes. “I didn’t mean it like that, silly. No need to look like a kicked puppy.” Louis brings his free hand up to cup the back of Harry’s neck. “I _want_ to live with you, obviously. Sometimes I just wonder why I want to. Why we’re still holding onto each other like glue when the others are just kind of, moving on. You know what I mean?”

Harry kind of does, yeah. Very much so, in fact. “Yeah,” he admits quietly. “But it’s all right, don’t you think? It’s just us, ‘s how we work, innit? ” He feels like it comes out a lot more questioning than intended.

“Suppose so,” Louis says, maintaining eye contact. A moment of silence passes where he seems to mull over what to say next, expression thoughtful with lips slightly parted, ready to speak whenever the right words come. Louis appears to think better of it though, shaking his head before putting on a bright smile and jumping back down onto the cold tiles. With a few pats to Harry’s cheek he reveals that he’s going to take a much needed shower of his own and then saunters off towards his room.

Alas, conversation over. Which is probably for the best really, seeing as they never seem to be getting any closer to figuring out the depths of their friendship anyway, no matter how many times the topic is discussed. And to be quite frank - the need to definite it shouldn’t even exist, because there are millions and millions of important issues desperately in need of some figuring out, and _Harry and Louis_ is in fact not one of them.

They’re two band mates turned best mates who also live with each other and happen to enjoy each other’s company a whole lot. End of story.

Nothing feels _right_. You only turn 22 once in a lifetime, after all, and Harry doesn’t want to buy Louis something mundane and boring like… socks and towels or something. And it’s not like he can make it special by getting something really expensive and show his love through money because, well, Louis also happens to own quite a fortune. Fuck their job really. (Expect no because it’s actually pretty great.)

But then, suddenly and out of nowhere, he sees it, sees _them,_ and now Harry’s grinning like mad because this is literally _perfect_ and why didn’t he think of it before?

For the last 30 minutes he’s been idly browsing the internet in favour of finding something to give Louis on his birthday (which is over a month and a half away but Harry’s always been a very dedicated present-buyer) and he just so happened to stumble upon a picture on Etsy of a pair of mint green Vans decorated with black, hand drawn patterns on the inner sides and a dreamcatcher on the front. Everything is drawn asymmetrically, all patterns being different and the dreamcatcher creating an image over the toes that can only be seen as a whole when the shoes are standing beside each other.

Not only are they Vans, making them a terrific addition to Louis’ collection, but they are also unique and really, really good looking. _Oh_ you can even customize the drawings or add a written message to make it more personal.

All right. Purchase it is.

The reason why Harry has even been able to look for a birthday gift without having a nosy Louis sneaking up behind him and ruining everything, is because the older boy is currently out getting provisions. Harry cooks and cleans. Louis buys groceries once a week and… well, that’s pretty much it. (But they do take turns when it comes to dishing and washing. Or just do it together because they’re ace at cooperating and it’s plenty more fun when you are two doing the work anyway.)

Harry didn’t feel overly excited of letting Louis go alone today though, because it’s still raining a shitload (like, sure this is England and England without rain is like McDonald’s without burgers, but now it’s getting ridiculous) and it’s nearing one o’clock in the middle of the day. Usually they tend to do errands either very early in the morning or very late in the evening, when there are as little people as possible out and about and the chance of getting spotted is minimal. If they bring along security they’re sure to attract attention so that’s a big ‘no, no’ in cases like these, which meant Louis would be all alone and openly exposed to the fatal dangers of grocery shopping in pure day light.

So, Harry had made his best efforts of convincing Louis to take him with this time, just in case. But Louis had just laughed in his face and said that if Harry followed they wouldn’t be home until midnight seeing as ‘you can’t be discreet for your life Harry, half the country would know where we were within five minutes of stepping outside the car.’ In retaliation Harry had merely rolled his eyes and left it at that because Louis could be a damn stubborn bastard when he wanted to, and Harry didn’t feel like starting an argument.

And Louis was right anyway. Like, Harry’s not _that_ bad at remaining unseen if he really makes an effort, but Louis is still a hundred times better, being all small and lithe and moving in that quiet, graceful way of his. Clad in casual jeans, sunglasses and a big jacket with the hood pulled up over his head he can walk around pretty much how he wants to (most times) without getting recognised.

Closing his laptop with a click, Harry opts for remaining seated on the couch. Turns out sitting is pretty boring on your own though, so he gets up and casts a glance at the wall clock, observing that Louis should in fact be home any time soon.

In the meantime - seeing as he hasn’t got anything better to do - he goes to find the feather duster to start off with the vast cleaning procedure that’s become routine whenever the flat’s been vacant for this long. Harry notices with distaste how basically all plain areas are covered in a thin, grey layer that looks highly unappealing. Not for much longer though.

He starts in the living room, not bothering with putting on any music to fill the silence since Louis will soon be home to fill it himself.

Occasionally he throws a glimpse at the clock, each time noting how the pointers have moved a little bit further. When he’s finished the whole room he halts completely, eyes glued to the dial and teeth gnawing on his bottom lip.

There are several different stores Louis uses to alternate between visiting, all to keep the whole ordeal as inconspicuous as possible. And while some take 20 minutes to reach by car, it’s only a five minute drive to the nearest Tesco and Harry knows that’s where he went today. Now it’s been over an hour since Louis stepped outside the door and he should definitely have returned by now. Unless something unexpected happened. Maybe some fans or paparazzi kept him held up, it wouldn’t be the first time. Or the traffic is just hopeless in this weather at this time of day.

Taking a breath to steady himself, Harry grabs his phone and dials Louis’ number, knowing he’ll be able to stay calm if he just gets to hear Louis’ voice. But then a tacky melody starts playing from the direction of Louis’ bedroom, causing disappointment and frustration to crash down on him as he realises that Louis didn’t even bring it with him.

“Fucking _idiot,_ ” he mutters, running a hand through his hair and closing his eyes. Suddenly the silence is just too much and Harry can’t stand it. He grabs the remote control and takes a seat on the sofa once more.

His whole body feels rigid and his leg can’t stop bouncing, a nervous habit that always makes Louis chuckle and put a calming hand on Harry’s knee to make him stop. Louis’ isn’t here though.

Every so often Harry mutes the TV, absolutely sure he heard something from the hallway this time. But he’s met with silence over and over again. Only the rain patters like tear drops outside.

It’s been an hour and a half when he shuts the TV off completely, watching the laughing characters fade into stark blackness. It’s never taken this long before. _Fucking hell_ , Harry knew he should’ve followed. Since the incident in Melbourne he’d barely kept Louis out of sight for over ten minutes, something that almost made him feel embarrassed because it wasn’t like Louis needes another damn body guard. But now that he decides to stop acting so much like an overprotective tit and actually let Louis go on his own, he isn't bloody coming back. Harry swears to God he’ll actually throttle that boy if it turns out he’s made an impromptu visit to Zayn’s or something without telling him.

Deciding it’s better than to just sit there all useless, he goes to retrieve his phone and give Zayn a call. Maybe, maybe Louis really is there. Zayn didn’t live too far away from them, after all.

Harry has no more than picked up the device before it suddenly lights up, vibrating harshly against his skin. Startled, it takes a couple of seconds before he can comprehend anything else. Then he sees it.

It’s Jay. Jay’s calling him. She never calls Harry.

“Hello?” he answers before the call can go to voice mail.

“Oh Harry, thank God you answered.”

Harry’s blood runs cold upon hearing her voice. It’s barely recognizable, the usually so warm tone distorted into one of utter panic. Sniffles and ragged breaths hit Harry through the receiver.

“Jay?” His voice sounds strange to his own ears. “What is it? What’s happened?” he asks tightly, clutching the phone like a vice between his fingers.

Jay only cries harder then and Harry doesn’t know what’s happening or what in the world to do, feeling completely useless where he stands in their living room, fear creeping up on him like ice cold ivy winding its way around vein after vein. “Jay?” he tries again, willing the woman to calm down enough to tell him.

She takes a deep breath, composing herself in an effort to speak, voice coming out in a choked whisper. “Louis.” No. “He- he’s been in an accident, a car accident, and he got hit in the head really badly. He’s at the hospital now, King’s College Hospital, in the emergency department, and I, I can’t-“ Broken sobs interrupt her again, but she forces herself to continue, “I’m so, so scared. What if it’s too late? What if-” The sentence dies in her mouth. “Harry, can you please drive there?”

Harry is already out the door and down the flight of stairs before she’s stopped talking. It’s not until he’s veered the car out of the garage with shaking hands and tears brimming in his eyes that he realises he never answered Jay’s question.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi...? Anyone still there...?  
> Anyway here's a new chapter in the midst of all chaos and sadness. Sorry for an awful lot of medical inaccuracies. Research is a pain in the ass. And sorry if you've actually been to King's College Hospital in London bc... I have not. Let's not say more on that.  
> Facts and inspiration (?) mostly taken from the film "If I Stay" and former Formula One champion Michael Schumacher's coma case.  
> Yeah. Right.  
> Enjoy I guess :))

Harry has been scared many times in his life. When he was a kid and saw Roald Dahl’s  _The Witches_ , for instance. Then he’d been scared. And when his mum had her major knee surgery. Then he’d also been scared. But nothing, absolutely  _nothing_ , compares to the fear he feels right now. The raw terror shocking through his veins as he runs towards the hospital entrance. He can’t see the people halting and staring at him. He can’t feel the rain pouring down on him. He can’t hear anything but the voice inside his head.

 _Louis._  

 _Louis,_  it says. Cries. Over and over again.

In a hazy blur, Harry yanks the door open over which white letters spell out the word  _emergency_. Inside, the atmosphere is eerily calm, yet the underlying tension of a thousand emotions linger in the room, in the quick paces of the nurses and doctors passing by, walking in each and every direction to do what one does when in the process of saving lives.

Somehow Harry’s legs carry him over to the reception, and somehow his voice starts talking without breaking.

“Hey, excuse me.” A young woman in blue scrubs looks up. “My name’s Harry Styles.” He ignores the flash of recognition in her eyes. “My- my friend got into a car accident about, uh, a little over an hour ago, and I would like to know how he’s doing, if that’s…” If that’s fucking okay because Harry is going to have a breakdown if he has to live another second without  _knowing_.

Nodding once, she says, “Yes, of course. What’s your friend’s name?”

He swallows. “Louis Tomlinson.” Saying it out loud makes a heavy weight drop in his gut.

Turning to the computer, she clicks a couple times before glancing at a clipboard, and then finally addresses Harry again. “Louis’ mother, Johannah Tomlinson, called and told us you would come in her place, seeing as she couldn’t be here within the nearest hours. So until her arrival, all information regarding Louis’ condition will immediately be reported directly to you.”

Harry breathes out his thanks and the woman smiles carefully.

“Now, you have been assigned a social worker whose job is to look into Louis’ case and tell you everything she knows. She will also answer all of your questions and help you in every other way she can. If you would just take a seat in our waiting room,“ her hand makes a gesture down the hall, ”she’ll be here in just a moment to talk to you, all right?”

“Thanks,” Harry repeats with a small nod, soon turning around and walking in the shown direction.

 _Emergency care waiting room._ So that’s where he’ll spend the foreseeable future.

Harry feels himself begin to crumple again, squeezing his eyes shut and burying his face in his hands, fingertips kneading into the damp skin of his forehead in an attempt to stop the tears from falling.

“Mr. Styles?”

He spins around. “Yes?” The heart inside his chest thumps wildly, pulsating in his head and his arms and his legs, because this woman knows. She  _knows._

“Hi, I’m Alice, your social worker. Pleasure to meet you.” She smiles warmly and Harry accepts her handshake. Her features turn serious after that. “I am so sorry for what’s happened.” Pause. “I have not yet had a chance of speaking to Louis’ doctor, but what I can tell you, is that your friend is still in surgery, and will probably be transferred to the ICU once the operation is done, and-”

“Will he survive?” Harry interrupts, holding his breath.

The answer doesn’t come directly. “I’m afraid it’s too early to say at this point.”

Harry sinks down in the chair he had previously gripped for support, unable to stop his eyes from flooding over now. Big, fat, ugly tears trail down his cheeks, dropping from his chin onto his lap.

 “I’m so sorry,” Alice says, laying a hand on his shoulder. “As soon as I have more information I will come and tell you. As soon as I hear anything at all, okay?”

Harry can’t bring himself to give any form of response, nor does Alice seem to expect him to because she exits the room, leaving Harry on his own.

Nothing stops him from holding back now. He cries heavily, sobbing and shaking violently, not caring who might walk past and see him like this. Broken. Miserable. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters.

This could be the day Louis Tomlinson’s heart forever stills. Warm blood turning to ice in a body that’s much too young to stop breathing. This could be the day  _Louis fucking Tomlinson_  leaves this life behind him as if it would actually be okay for him to do so. As if he wouldn’t destroy Harry’s whole world by doing so. Because Harry sure as hell doesn’t want to exist anymore if Louis dies tonight.

Harry hasn’t left the room for two hours. Hasn’t left since the social worker did - her name now nothing but a blank space in his mind. She said she’d be back when she heard any news regarding Louis’ condition, and Harry is terrified that if he leaves even for a second, she’ll return in the meantime and then walk away again when he isn’t there. Even though he isn’t alone anymore. Zayn and Niall have arrived as well. Liam probably will too any minute now.

No matter how little Harry had wanted to talk to other people, let alone have to tell anyone about the accident, it wasn’t fair to keep it to himself. It wasn’t even a choice. The others had to know, even if it would break their blissful bubble of unawareness. He knew he should’ve called more people, because those who held Louis in their heart weren’t few, but after breaking it to three of his closest friends, Harry just couldn’t do it anymore. He wasn’t near strong enough.

It’s silent in the waiting room. They don’t say anything because there is nothing to say. They sit huddled in a sofa in the corner, quietly attempting to comfort each other with their presence. Words wouldn’t make any difference, anyway.

Harry isn’t sobbing anymore, but tears still trickle down his cheeks every now and then. Slow and silent, contrary to the screaming storm that’s raging inside of him. But Zayn and Niall let out the occasional sniffle too, so. Yeah. It’s fine.

_If only it was fine._

The sound of nearing footsteps rouses Harry from his thoughts. Glancing up, his heart rate quickens in anxious anticipation. But it’s not the social worker who comes into sight. It’s Liam. Their eyes catch, deep worry reflecting back into Harry’s. Because it’s Liam though, there’s also an underlying sense of composure. Calmness and strength Harry wishes he possessed himself in this moment.

Liam blinks and swallows, gaze flitting between them. ”Have- Have you heard anything? Anything else?”

“Not yet,” Niall answers, and Harry is so grateful. He doesn’t know if he’d be able to utter a single word right now.

Niall makes room for Liam and they talk quietly, Niall filling him in on what little details he doesn’t already know. Harry isn’t listening to what they’re saying, doesn’t want to hear. He sits, focuses on the feel of Zayn’s hand on his shoulder and the art of breathing.

His eyes find the painting on the opposite wall, not for the first time. The lake and the sky, both so heavenly blue, stretching towards each other and longing to unite, mould into one. But they can’t. They never will, because an expanse of landmass splits them apart. A dull, grey stripe extending from left to right in the midst of cerulean, not a single trace of growth or life.

Death is forever separating them.

Harry hates it. Yearns to run forward and tear the canvas from the wall, stomp on it and rip it into pieces. Burn the remains. Burn the picture from his retina.

Another 30 minutes pass. Slowly. So agonizingly slowly.

“Hey, Harry,” Zayn suddenly jostles him, voice perked up. “Is that…?”

Harry spots a figure in the doorway, and this time, it definitely isn’t Liam. “It’s her,” he rushes out, willing his legs to support him as he stands and stumbles towards the woman, heart in throat. Fully intending to say something, ask what she knows, he halts in front of her. But nothing comes out, nothing but strangled breaths. He’s so, so scared. So terrified of what words might leave her mouth. Then she speaks.

“I have news about Louis. First of all,” a hint of a smile tugs at her lips, “He is alive.”

“Thank _God_ ,” Harry exhales into his hands. Air and tension and nerves whooshes out of his body all at once, leaving him feeling dizzy and numb with relief. Louis’ heart is still beating. Everything isn’t over, not yet.

“But, I’ve got to be honest with you.”

No. Please, no.  _Of course there is more to come. What were you thinking?_ Instantly Harry’s skin starts crawling again, insides constricting.

“Your friend suffered a serious skull trauma from the impact of the collision,” she continues, voice gentle as if trying to ease the brutal meaning of the words. “And he’s still in a critical situation. The surgery however, was performed successfully, eliminating internal bleed and pressure inside his head and thus putting his life out of immediate danger. I also have to tell you that Louis fell into a coma during the operation, which isn’t unexpected after a head trauma like this. He’s since been transferred to the intensive care unit where a ventilator supports his breathing.” Her gaze wanders over them all in turn. ”Now, the first 24 hours are wholly crucial for comatose patients. Before that, Louis’ doctor can make no accurate prediction of his future. I’m glad to say though, that despite the circumstances, his condition and levels are looking stable at the moment. Better than expected, even. So, if no drastic changes happen tonight or tomorrow, chances are that Louis will soon wake up and be able to recover. I want you to remember this, and stay positive, even though we can’t know anything for sure yet.”

Harry just stares at her, feeling stone cold at the onslaught of information.

_Serious skull trauma. Coma. Intensive care unit._

Swaying on the spot, Harry thinks he might faint, and it’s not an entirely unwelcome thought. Getting swallowed up by black nothingness, just for a while, and wake up when it’s over. Wake up if Louis does.

_Stay positive._

Zayn must take notice to his instability, stepping forward in support before he can collapse to the ground.

“Harry, mate, you all right? Louis’ state is stable for now, you heard? He’s alive.” Zayn makes Harry face him, previously fear filled dark eyes now also glinting with something entirely else.

Hope. They’re glinting with hope.

All of a sudden the longing after him becomes unbearable.

Harry forces himself to straighten up, unwavering gaze fixed on the social worker. “I have to see him.” Remembering that he’s not alone, he corrects himself. “We have to see him. Please, let us see him.” He’s aware that he’s begging, desperation clear in his voice, but he couldn’t care less. Because somehow nothing has ever felt more important than seeing Louis with his own eyes right now. He’s got to see it for himself, that it’s true. That Louis’ still alive.

The small smile returns. “You may. Doctor Steele has given me permission to allow visitors. Just follow me, I’ll lead the way.”

As they walk through bright hospital corridors, the woman presents herself as Alice to the other boys (Harry will make an effort to remember the name this time). Other than that, they wander in silence. Harry feels lost in this labyrinth, this endless maze of walls and doors and sections and wards that don’t make any sense to him. He almost starts wondering if even Alice knows where they are going, but when she comes to a halt outside a pair of doors it seems they might’ve reached their destination at last.

“This is the Jack Steinberg Intensive Care Unit,” Alice confirms, entering the ward. “And Louis is in room J 106, over there.”

Harry looks to the left, sees doors littered along the hallway. His eyes freeze on the sixth. Once again his pulse escalates, ice and fire rushing underneath his skin.

Behind that wall, no more than 30 feet away, lies Louis in a coma. The thought is beyond comprehension. Harry wants nothing more than to sprint forward and tear the door open. At the same time he’s absolutely terrified of doing so, terrified of what he’ll see, of how he’ll react.

Alice walks ahead of them and Liam gives Harry a mild nudge when he doesn’t move. “C’mon Harry, we’re almost there,” he says, voice quiet, trembling with nerves.

The woman turns around before reaching the door, addressing them once more. “I’m sorry to say that you can’t all go in at once. Due to every patient requiring a calm and peaceful environment around them in order to recover, no more than two visitors are allowed to enter one room at the same time.” Alice’s eyes are filled with compassion. “I’m sure you wouldn’t do anything to disturb your friend, but we have to follow the hospital’s restrictions.”

Niall nods, replying, “We understand.”

“Who feels ready to go first?” Alice asks.

All eyes settle on Harry. Something warm akin to pride spreads within his chest at that - at the fact that despite them all being the best of friends, he’s the one that’s closest to Louis, after all. And it might be a little selfish of him to take advantage of this, of the others so easily complying in favour of letting Harry see him first. But he physically couldn’t stand to wait outside any longer now that he knows Louis’  _right there_ , mere footsteps away. Besides, he’s never claimed to be a perfect human being by any means, and someone has to go first, right? Might as well be him.

Still.

“Are you sure?” he wonders, eyes flickering between them. “I mean-”

“Harry, don’t,” Zayn interjects. “You’re first. It’s not even a matter of question.” He sends a half smile Harry’s way. “Do you want any of us to come with, or would you rather go on your own? We will all soon get to see him either way, so it’s all up to you.”

Harry doesn’t have to think about the answer. “If it’s all right with you,” he takes a breath, “I’d rather be alone with him.” It’s the truth, and it doesn’t seem to surprise any of them in the least.

“Course,” Zayn murmurs, and they all gather in a tight embrace before Harry faces Alice.

 “All right,” she smiles. “Before you step inside, I just want to say that the sight of Louis might come as a slight shock. And while I haven’t heard anything about this, he might have visible, external injuries, as well as machines and tubes connected with and attached to his body. It’s probably going to feel uncomfortable seeing him like that at first, but I promise you’ll find it easier to handle by the minute.”

Mind elsewhere, Harry’s only listened with one ear. He thinks he manages a weak nod in response though, before his hand finally clasps around handle. Pushing it down, he steps inside, closes the door behind him, and-

And there he is. Looking nothing like the frightening image Harry had somehow built up in his mind. The machines are daunting, yes- but Louis doesn’t look frightening. Not at all.

Of course he doesn’t.

Harry dares take a step closer, seizing the scene. Louis’ body seems even smaller than usual now, all wrapped up in bed sheets, torso covered in a large hospital gown. Two tubes, which must be connected to the ventilator, are leading in through his nose, filling his lungs with oxygen. A needle with another tube is pierced through the skin of Louis’ right wrist, while something Harry believes measures blood pressure is wrapped above his left elbow. The left hand is partly covered by a piece of bandage, a single finger clasped by some grey object that’s also attached to a tube.

On his cheek and throat, there are a couple minor abrasions visible. Other than that, Louis looks just like himself. Skin completely unmarred. Had the situation been another, Harry would have thought he was merely sleeping.

Spotting two chairs by the wall, Harry reaches for one, moves it closer to the bedside and takes place on the soft seat. Sending a brief look at his surroundings, he notices that the room isn’t what he had expected either. It’s not a bare space filled with sterile equipment and cold colours, but a chamber almost appearing welcoming. Walls and floors go from warm yellow to beige, alike the bed and what furniture is in there. Some items are light blue, following what seems to be the theme colour of the hospital. A window is letting the last few rays of daylight in.

Harry’s attention returns to Louis, gaze coming to rest on the other boy. He had feared that seeing Louis would only make it worse. Make him fall apart upon understanding that this is genuinely for real, palpable and irreversible. Somehow though, it has the near opposite effect. Watching Louis look so peaceful, chest rising and falling steadily, makes Harry feel a sense of calm. Even unconscious in the ICU of a hospital, Louis has a comforting effect on him. It shouldn’t be possible, not when Harry’s done nothing but worry out of his wits for the past few hours. Yet it is. Yet Louis makes him feel tranquil, like it’ll all be okay. One way or another.

Harry lets out a sigh, taking Louis’ right hand within his own and squeezing slightly. Knowing that he won’t wake up all of a sudden and get freaked out by Harry’s stare, he allows himself to look. For once, he allows himself to just look.

Silky, brown hair. Smooth skin. Dark, long lashes. Sharp cheekbones. Chiselled jawline. Slender neck.

Such delicate features.

And yeah, of course Harry’s always had functioning eyes. Of course he’s always been able to see how good looking Louis is. How so, so many people in this world would do anything to be with him. You’d have to be blind not to see. But right now it hits him like a freight train, leaving his lungs void of air and his heart fluttering irregularly.

It’s just. Louis’ so beautiful. So  _beautiful_. And Harry has always seen, but it’s never occurred to him that he’d have to nearly lose Louis in order to truly  _see_. And now that he has, he knows he’ll never be able to not see again.

It makes his chest clench in a way that’s so painful he thinks it’s going to smother him, encompass him until he’s completely ensnared with no single hope of ever finding a way out. It’s terrifying. Overwhelming. A sensation like no one he’s ever felt before.

The force of it makes Harry go light-headed, newfound calm blown out the window just as quickly as it had embraced him. His eyes begin to sting with the promise of new tears, hands going clammy where they both now grip Louis’ tightly, clutching the fragile bones like a lifeline. With his unclear vision shifting between Louis’ face and their intertwined hands, Harry tries to discern the jumbled thoughts inside his pounding skull.

Louis is so bright, so full of life. Harry doesn’t understand how he could ever get so lucky as to get to know him, let alone have him be a daily presence in his life. It’s come to a point where Harry couldn’t possibly live without him. Louis means way too much. Everything, really. And if he acknowledges that thought, stops running away from it like the damn weak coward he’s always been, he knows what it means. He knows _,_  and it’s a realization that turns his world upside down.

_Air. Right fucking now he desperately needs air._

Shoving the chair away, Harry shakily turns on his heels and stumbles towards the exit without glancing back.

“There you are!” Harry startles at the voice, head whipping around. “Been looking for you everywhere, mate,” Niall pants lightly as he jogs up to Harry. “Why’re you hiding up here?”

After rushing out the room, Harry had frantically searched for a way to escape the building, to save himself from suffocating. Luck would have it that he did find one - the roof, to be specific. Or a door leading outside to a part of the roof of the level below. Balcony, if you will. Harry had dragged his body straight over to the railing and slumped over the cold steel, lungs constricting.

He’s been standing there since. Breathing and thinking in the darkness. An ambulance can be heard in the distance, the third one in whatever long time he’s been up there. Three more lives that may never be the same.

Niall sighs from beside him. “It’s raining you know.”

Harry keeps his eyes looked on the city lights. “I know.”

“You don’t have a jacket.”

“I don’t.”

“You’re impossible.” Harry’s lips are almost tinted by a smile. Niall clears his throat. “Jay arrived just after you ran off. She wanted to thank you. Lou’s sisters are here as well.”

Harry nods, fingers curled tight around the metal that’s preventing him from tumbling to the ground beneath. “I’ll go back down soon. Just needed some time on my own.”

“Yeah, ‘course.”

They are silent for a minute, raindrops falling down on them in a drizzle, not quite like the harassing downpour from before. The sky is having mercy on them, apparently.

“You can talk to me, Harry,” Niall says then, sounding weary and so much older than his 20 years. “I know you’re thinking. Don’t keep it all locked up inside.”

Harry raises his gaze, letting it settle on his friend. “I’m not the only one affected. You and the others are too. Your friend is also in a coma after having his brain wrecked in a car accident.” The words cut his tongue like burning knives.

Niall swallows, voice tight. “I love Louis. We all do.  But you and him…”

Yeah. Harry knows. He doesn’t know what to say though. “I don’t know what to say.” He averts his eyes. “I’m not even sure what I feel. One second I’m crying and shaking and scared to the point where I’m losing it. The next I feel eerily calm, at peace almost, and then I’m panicking and freaking the fuck out again. Now I’m just- I’m just numb. I dunno. It’s confusing and- I dunno.” That may not be the entire truth, because while he does feel lost in a disarray of emotions, there is one thing that’s dawned on him, that’s so startlingly clear, so obvious that he can’t see how he’s missed it before. Something he could not understand until this day. Harry wonders if he’ll ever have enough courage to talk about it. Bare the innermost parts of his soul.

Niall shifts, pulls his jacket tighter, huffs a bit against the cold. “It’s all right,” he says into the night, probably sensing there’s more to what Harry’s saying, also knowing that it’s better to just let it go for now. “But you know you can talk to me whenever, right? And Zayn and Liam too, of course.”

“Yeah… Yeah.” Harry assures, because he does know. It’s always been like that, it’s just. He’s always talked too Louis about everything first. Now he can’t and that’s- it’s not easy to comprehend.

“C’mon,” Niall urges then, voice gentle but determined as he takes a step closer to the building. “It’s seriously freezing, so you better follow me inside before you’re coming down with pneumonia and we have to put you on life support as well.”

Harry hums, pulling away from the railing, following without protest. Standing there is not going to help any of them.

Back at the hospital ward it is silent and still, just like before. The adjacent waiting room is no longer solely occupied by Liam and Zayn though. Three young girls sit huddled beside them. Charlotte, Felicity and one of the twins.

“Hey guys,” Niall says and five pairs of eyes settle on them. “I’m just going to the bathroom quickly, I’ll be right back.” He leaves with a slight smile, turning the corner and disappearing out of sight.

“Hi Harry,” Lottie’s soft voice sounds small and vulnerable when it captures his attention.

“Hi girls,” he replies, approaching them mindfully. An instinctive ‘are you all right’ almost slips out before he manages to bite his tongue. It’s definitely not the right question to ask. Normally Louis’ sisters are the happiest girls you could imagine, laughing and joking, blue eyes sparkling and full of life. Now they resemble three wilting flowers, so crestfallen and sad it fills Harry’s bones with deep sorrow. They’re so young, Daisy and Phoebe a mere nine years old, and they’ve already lost their brother once. He’d auditioned for the X Factor and never really returned to them. Now he might disappear out of their lives forever. The thought sends new waves of panic scoring through Harry’s spine and he does all in his power to push them away, because he can’t cry in front of Louis’ little sisters, he just  _can’t._ It would only make everything worse.

“Why are you so wet?” the youngest sister asks suddenly, and Harry is infinitely grateful for a chance to distract himself, focus on something else. She looks up at him and it’s clear that she’s been crying as well, eyes red-rimmed and skin painted with tear tracks. Harry pretends to not notice.

“Uh,” he glances at his black t-shirt and sweatpants, which are not completely soaked, mind, but do sag a bit from the weight of the water. “I went outside for some air, and it was still raining and I didn’t have a jacket, so…yeah. Got a little wet. As you can see.” Harry shrugs, making a face that hopefully passes off as funny. Apparently he did something right, at least, as a small smile is returned to him. It warms Harry’s chest. “Where is your sister?”

“Daisy’s with mum,” Phoebe answers quietly, the corners of her mouth sinking again. “They’re with Louis.”

Shit. He should have figured. “Have you been in there too?” Harry asks.

Phoebe nods, eyes downcast, fingers fiddling with the hem of her jumper. Fizzy hugs her a bit tighter. Harry decides it’s probably better to stay silent. A sudden clap on his shoulder makes him turn around. Niall’s back, holding up a white towel and a blanket. “Thought you might need this.”

Harry blinks, accepting the items. “Oh, thanks. Where..?”

“A nurse got it for us,” Niall explains, taking place on the sofa beside their band mates. Harry follows, making quick work of rubbing his skin and hair with the towel, soaking up most of the water. His clothes are still wet, but. It’s not that bad. They will dry eventually.

Before he had barely noticed how cold he was - too preoccupied with everything else to spare his body temperature a thought - but with the blanket now wrapped around his shoulders, he completely melts into the lovely feeling of  _warmth_. Sinking further into the backrest with a heavy sigh, he lets his eyelids drop near shut. Muscles loose, relaxed, for the first time in what feels like forever. That’s when the door to room J 106 opens.

Daisy walks out soundlessly. Jay comes after, gaze immediately landing on Harry. They both freeze for a second, eyes locked. Next thing Harry knows, he’s being tugged into the kind of loving hug only a mother can give. And it’s not his own mum’s arms, but their grasp still encloses him in safety.

“Oh, Harry,” Jay whispers, holding tight. “I can’t thank you enough for coming here when I couldn’t. Thank you, thank you  _so much_.”

Harry doesn’t even know what to say to that.

Hearing Louis was in this hospital, nothing in the world could have stopped him from instantly driving here. Truth is, there’s nothing he wouldn’t drop in a heartbeat for Louis. Absolutely nothing.

“Of course,” he breathes finally. “It’s Louis. I’d do anything for him.”

Jay leans back, thumb softly stroking a strand of hair out of his face. Her mouth is pulled into a careful, watery smile as her eyes scan his face, calculating and searching.

“You really love him, don’t you?”

Harry’s heart nearly jumps out of his chest right then and there. Because that’s it, isn't it.

“I...” he looks at the closed door, then back at Jay. “Yeah. I do. I really, really do.”

The smile on Jay’s face widens just a fracture. “Maybe you should pay him another visit, then? I think Louis would like that.”

Harry turns his head to the door again, knowing without a doubt that Jay’s right. “Yeah,” he agrees breathlessly. “I think I should.”

For the second time that night, Harry gathers his nerves to enter Louis’ room. His heart is racing at a frightening pace, beating violently inside his ribcage. At the same time it feels impossibly light, like it’s been liberated from a heavy weight and is about to escape his body and flutter all the way into the sky.

The handle is cold and solid in his grip, and Louis lies in the same position as before. Beautiful as ever.

The burning sensation awakens within Harry’s chest once again. Heat growing and spreading like wildfire through his blood vessels. And this time he isn’t fleeing from it. He won’t ever flee again.

Before he can think better of it, Harry bends down, face coming close, so close to Louis’, lips gently pressing against the centre of his mouth. For a second, he lingers, and then pulls away slowly. Louis can’t respond, doesn’t even know what Harry’s done, and he probably should feel somewhat guilty for stealing a kiss from his unknowing best friend without preamble. But he doesn’t. Harry couldn’t possibly describe what exactly he feels, it’s too much and too sensational all at once. But he does know the word for it.

Love.

He’s in love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd be absolutely delighted if you wanted to leave kudos or comment a little something, it would mean the world to me :3 Otherwise just keep rolling and doing what you're doing, I still love you for reading ^^  
> Massive, loving hugs to everyone in this time of grief ♥  
> [tumblr](http://magicalsparrow.tumblr.com)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh god I'm so sorry for all the medical inaccuracies. Like. Really, properly sorry. They keep invading this story and I don't know how to stop them. This is fanfiction though so I'd appreciate it if you don't come yelling at me. Thanks x

Doctor Graham Steele is a tall man in his fifties with robust hands and kind eyes. Harry meets him for the first time the following morning, at 6 am when the man enters the ward along with two nurses for a mandatory check-up on their patient - on Louis.

Harry’s stuck in the waiting room all the while, nerves getting the better of him as he anticipates the results. He’d spent the night on one of the couches, not allowed to stay by Louis’ side as, in vain, he’d hoped. _Between 2 and 7:30 pm_ , they were told. Those were the restricted visiting hours. Harry has no choice but to follow them, no matter how much it tears at his heart strings to be separated from Louis. He wishes he could lie there with him, could sneak underneath the covers and cradle Louis close to his chest. Protect him from anything that could possibly be harmful. Then, perhaps, he could let his lights go out for a minute. As it is, sleep is not even worth thinking about.

Liam, Zayn and Niall are all sat beside him, awake, despite exhaustion lying heavy on top of their shoulders, showing in their weary complexions and tired frames. Harry can only imagine what his own reflection looks like. Though really, he couldn’t care less.

A couple hours before midnight, Stan as well as Louis’ stepdad, Mark, had arrived at the hospital, making them eight people now sitting outside the ICU. Dan had driven down too, coming to support Jay who was no longer in the waiting room with them. Being six months pregnant with twins under such strenuous circumstances was beginning to take its toll on her body. She’d been given a room of her own where she could rest for the night and recover, Dan and the twins also staying with her.

“Do you think everything’s all right?” Harry finds himself whispering into the dimly lit room, eyes stuck on the door which has remained firmly closed during 15 minutes already. Each second passing by without the doctor stepping out has his gut wrenching more violently, the feeling that something is wrong growing inevitably stronger. “Wouldn’t they be back out by now if everything was all right?”

Niall lets out a heavy breath to his left. “I don’t know, Harry.” He sounds so tired. “But I sure fucking hope that’s not the case.”

When the door finally swings open, they’re all on their feet within seconds, and when Harry spots an inkling of a smile on Dr. Steele’s face, he knows the danger is over this time.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I can to tell you that Louis’ condition is unchanged. All of his levels are still stable, which really is the best news I could give you at this stage. Now we’re hoping this will remain until 5 pm tonight when the 24 hour mark is passed.”

“Would that- I mean if his levels do still look the same - would that mean Louis is going to be fine?” Mark asks timidly, and Harry tries to read every miniscule change on the doctor’s face.

“There’s nothing we can guarantee with full certainty,” he reveals levelly, “seeing as each individual case is different. But if Louis’ state is still balanced when 24 hours pass, and we by then can take him off the ventilator, chances that Louis will wake up without any further complications increase to 90%. Chances that Louis will wake up, however, are almost up to a whole hundred.”

These are good odds, aren’t they? They _have_ to be. Harry tells himself so, despite those few worrying percentages lingering in the air like dark storm clouds, ready to unleash all hell if things take the smallest of turns in the wrong direction. And before he can even afford the privilege to worry about that, another 11 agonizing hours have to pass without Louis’ body giving up on them.

The morning drags by excruciatingly slowly. It’s unbearable, how time ticks by at the pace of a snail stuck in glue when you’ve never wanted it to move quicker.

Harry is so tired. If he had ever thought he’d felt fatigued to the brim before, he’d been very wrong. His body aches, physically from sitting still in the same position on the same piece of furniture for God knows how long. But the worst pain comes from inside, his heart constantly burning and sizzling and shattering. It can’t be much left of it now.

Apparently, miraculously, the clock does hit two at one point. And Harry begs to go first again, because he’s weak and hurting and so hopelessly in love that it’s ripping him apart. Whoever said love is sunshine, butterflies and rainbows can go fuck themselves, because it’s not true. Not true at all.

He stands still inside the door of room J 106 for a moment. Eyes closed, breaths heavy.

Somehow, he survived the evening, the night and the morning. Louis did too, which is really the only thing that matters. And Harry’s with him now.

Today the chair is already in place. Harry walks over, takes a seat. Louis’ slight hand is cold between both of his own. Touching him makes Harry feel less like he’s falling, if only because he realises he’s already hit rock bottom. It’s almost funny, how oblivious he’s been to his own feelings this whole time. Although it’s not like there’s a point in time he can draw to remembrance and think that ‘yeah, this was totally the day I started to have feelings for my band mate.’ All he knows is that it wasn’t the night before, because his overwhelming love for Louis didn’t just appear out of the blue. It intensified to a whole new level, but it had been there before. Perhaps it had always been.

Harry slumps and groans into the mattress.

 _God_ he’s such an _idiot_. If only he wasn’t so much of a coward who avoided confronting his feelings until they were literally thrown in his face, things would have all looked different now. Not that Louis would ever want Harry like that. Louis’ wonderful and gorgeous and could factually have anyone he wants. There’s no way he’d ever see anything but a friend in Harry, but at least he would have been given the chance to tell Louis face to face just how much he loves him. Now he might never. He has to fight the tears back.

After another few minutes of silence, it hits Harry that he hasn’t said a word within these walls. It feels wrong, having sat by Louis’ side for so long yesterday without having said anything at all. Although it’s not like Louis can hear him. Or maybe he can. Harry doesn’t know how coma works, whether it’s like dreaming or black nothingness or even being conscious to a certain extent. Maybe Louis is able to pick up things around him, like sounds, despite not being aware of it himself. It’s probably not very likely, but Harry might as well give it a shot. If not for Louis’ sake, then for his own, because he needs to ease the pressure from pent up thoughts inside his head before it explodes.

Clearing his throat, Harry tightens his grip on Louis’ hand.

“Hi, Lou.” Louis shows no sign of recognition, of course. Merely lies there, small and still with pale lips and blue eyes concealed by delicate lids and lashes. “It’s just me. Thought I’d say hello.” He strokes the little bone of Louis’ wrist with his thumb. “You broke your promise you know. Do you remember? I made you promise to not ever get hurt. Guess I should have known better.” Harry’s throat is thick and his brain is foggy and he doesn’t really know what he’s saying. He swallows and clears his throat again. It doesn’t help much.

Pressing Louis’ cool hand to his cheek, he holds it in place with his own. “I realised something yesterday, and I know I’m a shitty person for telling you now, but- I have to say it, and I can’t tell anyone else. Not yet, anyway. I need some time.”

The heart within Harry’s chest is beating like rapid percussions, threatening to break out of its caging walls. “The thing is,” he croaks pathetically, exposed and vulnerable, “that I’m in love with you, Louis.”

He says it, and the world doesn’t stop.

“And I swear to God I’ll die if you leave me, because I can’t live without you. I _can’t._ ” The tears break through despite his efforts, sliding down his cheeks, gracing his and Louis’ intertwined fingers. “Please Louis. I’m begging you to hold on, and then tonight you can breathe on your own and have a new room and a bed without all these damn machines and you can get better and wake up and-”

There’s a knock on the door, and Harry’s gut drops because he’s not ready to leave yet.

With a heavy heart he rises from the seat, plants a soft kiss to Louis’ knuckles. Taking a steadying breath, he speaks through his tears. “We want you back, Louis. I want you back. I need you here so bad. I’m so fucking scared and I feel so alone without you. Please, hold on. I love you so, so much. Please, stay with me.”

Harry forces himself to let go of Louis’ hand, sleeve coming up to dry his eyes.

The sight of a frazzled Jay meets him in the doorway. She is clearly exhausted, eyes beginning to tear up as well when their gazes lock. They exchange a wordless embrace, and then the door is closed behind him again.

Three more hours.

Harry has just about torn his coffee cup to shreds when the medical team emerges at half past five.

The whole room stops breathing. Every sound and movement dying down as if turned off by a switch. Every eye trained on the only people who know what is going to happen to Louis. This is it.

Dr Steele steps forward, a sudden smile forming that ignites sparks, has Harry hoping, hoping-

“I have good news. Louis can breathe fully without the ventilator and no longer needs to be put on life support, which means we are now transferring him to another ward, out of the ICU.”

_Thank God._

Everything’s a blur. A blissful, happy blur of cheers and hugs and tears as scrubs and white coats move Louis to the David Marsden Ward. His new room contains a couch, armchairs, a TV and drawers. If it weren’t for the typical hospital bed and the equipment that Louis has yet to be freed from, it would almost look like a normal hotel room. One last stay in one last hotel room before this chapter is sealed and closed and they can return home.

The room in the ICU didn’t have a window you could look through while standing in the waiting room - for whatever reason Harry cannot understand – but, this one has. So naturally that’s where Harry ends up, leaning heavily against the wall, eyes transfixed on Louis as if his gaze alone has the powers to wake him up. Still only two visitors are allowed at a time, now between 2 and 8 pm - a ludicrous improvement by 30 minutes, but an improvement nonetheless.

The digital clock on the wall reads 11:29. Soon midnight then.

Harry hasn’t slept in forever, but he’s terrified of leaving. Louis could wake up in five minutes or a week’s time. No one knows, and Harry is going to hate himself with a passion if he isn’t there the moment Louis opens his eyes. Unfortunately his body doesn’t care, as his vision keeps swimming with exhaustion and every fibre of his being screams for him to just  _sleep._

Zayn, Liam and Niall had left a couple hours ago. They had tried to talk Harry into coming with them, go home to his and Louis’ flat for just a while to get some sleep. ‘If anything happens, you know they will call us at once.’ ‘You’ll be back first thing in the morning.’ ‘Louis would want you to rest _._ ’

It’s all true. But Harry had stayed, of course.

Just until Louis wakes up…

“Harry.”

Harry sits up with a start. Jay is standing above him, paper bag in hand and a gentle smile on her face. “I brought breakfast.”

“Break- what?” Harry croaks.

“You slept through both morning and noon, love. It’s soon two, and I thought you’d want to be awake for visiting hours. Here, you need to eat something.”

“But, wait- is Louis-”

“Louis is just fine, sound asleep. Nothing’s happened yet.”

Harry nods slowly in response, feeling pretty out of it. He can’t remember having ever gone to lie down in a bed with a real mattress. Come to it, he can’t even remember entering this room. “Where am I?”

Jay sits down beside him, opening the bag to reveal a baguette and a bag of crisps. There are also two steaming cups of tea on the table in front of them, Harry notices. “This is the room they let me have, because of my ‘state’,” she says, handing the items over. ”That’s my bed over there. And so I may have persuaded them to bring another bed in here for you to sleep in, ‘cause God knows you wouldn’t have left Louis’ room to go all the way home and sleep in your own bed.” Then under her breath, “It’s incredible what an influence you can have on these people when you work as a nurse yourself.”

She looks content, a little wary still, but significantly livelier than Harry had seen her during their hospital stay. He sneaks a glance at her swollen belly. The thought of two babies, two siblings of Louis’, growing and developing inside warms him.

“I can’t even remember walking away from his room,” he says truthfully.

These past two days Harry hasn’t had very much of an appetite. He can’t remember what or when the last thing he ate was. But now that he lays eyes on the sandwich he can feel his mouth water and his stomach churn. “Thank you for this. I am kinda hungry.”

“Figured you’d be, dig in.”

They settle in a moment of silence, Harry eating his sandwich and Jay sipping her tea. That’s when she decides to drop the bomb.

“Alice told me about the accident.”

Harry stops mid chew. “What?”

Jay sets the cup back down on the table and folds her hands over her stomach, features growing serious and sad once more. “She’s got information from the police now. Details about what really happened in the collision.”

Harry feels a sharp stab in his chest. The thought had barely even hit him. Not once had he really thought about what had caused the accident in the first place. Suddenly a spike of fear creeps up his spine, somewhat irrationally because he _knows_ the outcome. Louis is still here. “And?” Harry prompts quietly.

“They say it’s a miracle he got away with so few injuries. It was really only his head that got severely damaged, after all. The car was a complete wreck. No one will ever drive that thing again. Although I’m not sure I’ll even let him touch a car after this.” She puts on a little laugh that doesn’t sound very humorous at all. “But, yeah. What happened was basically that another car skidded in an intersection and drove straight into the left side of Louis’ car, causing its right side to ram into a lamppost. That second hit against the lamppost was- That’s when Louis’ head knocked into the side window. The hit was so forceful that the glass broke, cutting open a gash above his right ear. ‘S why he has the scar now. He went unconscious immediately.”

“Oh my god.” Pictures flash before Harry’s eyes in high frenzy. Louis jeering in panic the moment before the crash. Metal scraping against metal in the heavy rainfall. Blood trailing down Louis’ seemingly lifeless skin. Harry feels nauseous.

“The driver of this other car,” Jay continues numbly, “a man, Martin Thomson, received no injuries whatsoever, which shouldn’t even be possible, but well. Turned out he was the one who called the emergency services. He’s been in for interrogation, but they freed him this morning, apparently. The police came to the conclusion that no crime had been committed. It was all just an accident. Merely an unfortunate turn of events that almost killed my son.”

Silent tears are trailing down both of their cheeks again. On Harry’s part more out of anger than anything. It’s just so unfair. So fucking _unfair_. None of this should have happened. He and Louis should be sitting on their kitchen floor laughing at nothing and everything while left over take away is reheating in the microwave, but they aren’t. They aren't, because out of every person on this planet, the most radiant and wonderful and amazing had to suffer a trauma from a car accident and fall into a coma and it’s _just_ _not fair._

Harry wipes furiously at his eyes, sniffling as the rage grows even stronger within him. Anger towards the man who drove the other vehicle. Anger towards himself. Because after all, it could have all been avoided had Harry just _done_ something. Ever since Melbourne he’d had this sickening gut feeling that refused to dissipate no matter what. But he fought against it, did everything to ignore and forget about it, told himself he was being stupid. And now it was too late.

If only he’d followed Louis.

“Excuse me, I just- I think I need a moment.” It sounds weak, and he avoids Jay’s gaze as he emerges the room.

Making sure the lock’s twisted shut, Harry slumps against the door of a miniscule toilet and lets out a gut wrenching sob. He wants to scream until his voice is hoarse and punch the bright tiles until his knuckles are raw and bleeding because it _hurts_ so much. The vast hate for himself and the devastating love for Louis are turning his blood to poison, corrosive liquid floating through his body and destroying him piece by piece.

Harry cries until he can’t anymore. He doesn’t feel any better, but he will. Eventually. It’ll be all right in time.

When Louis wakes up, it’ll be all right.

_The hit was so forceful the glass broke, a gash breaking open above his right ear. ‘S why he has the scar now._

Harry’s whole body goes rigid where he’s back by Louis’ window, Jay’s words having hit him like a bolt out of nowhere. He must have heard her saying them earlier, but their meaning had completely slipped his mind, too much to comprehend all at once to understand.

A scar. He hadn’t ever noticed a scar. The thought of an angry line forever marring Louis’ skin as a reminder of this nightmare has Harry’s mouth go stale.

By the time it’s his turn to go inside, his legs are not quite cooperating, but he does make it over to the bed without tumbling to the floor. As has become custom, he grabs Louis’ hand and gives it a kiss, swallowing before he speaks.

“Hi, Lou. It’s my last visit today, which I’m sure you’re glad to hear. You must be tired of me pestering you in here all the time.” He tries for a little smile that mostly feels stiff, pulling unnaturally at his skin. It’s probably a good thing Louis can’t see it, after all.

Steeling himself, Harry leans forward, fingers coming up to stroke down Louis’ cheek before moving to pull back the golden brown strands above his ear. For the first time he sees that underneath, a tuft of hair is missing - shaven off where a red and swollen scar has now taken its place. Harry’s breath hitches. It must be two inches long at the very least, dark stitches piercing through the thin skin like barbed wire, making it resemble something out of a horror novel. Still, he feels relief come flooding back, because it could have been so much worse. What’s a scar compared to his whole world being taken away from him?

Breathing out, Harry sinks back into the seat, once again taking hold of Louis’ hand and observing him quietly. It seems to be all he is doing nowadays - looking at Louis. Either it is by his bedside or through the glass in the adjacent room. He couldn’t tear his gaze away even if he wanted to. Thankfully Louis doesn’t know how much of a pathetic, lovesick creep he’s being.

Harry lets the forefinger of his free hand trace the familiar outlines of dark ink etched into Louis’ skin. The compass, the swift bird, the rope around his dainty wrist. Up, towards the bits of swirling letters peeking out from under his collar, most of which are swallowed up by the white and blue hospital gown, just like Louis himself.

“You’re so small, Lou,” Harry says quietly, lips quirking faintly at the thought of how Louis would glare at him in response. “Just- It’s easy to forget sometimes. You’re always so bright and lively, you know. Appearing so big with that outstanding personality of yours. But really it’s all being contained in this slight, little body. And I, uh, I guess-” Harry chuckles weakly, trying to ignore the lump in his throat. “The truth is, it’s a bit frightening. Just how apparent it becomes when you’re lying here. Unconscious.”

He looks so defenseless. Fragile. Like a tiny bird with brittle bones, unable to fly. But Harry knows Louis, and he knows what a fighter he is, how incredibly strong he is.

As the inevitable knock on the door eventually comes, Harry places a final, gentle kiss to the pulse point beneath Louis’ hand. “Wake up soon, Louis. I’m not going anywhere,” he whispers, heart swelling and burning within his chest. “I love you.”

It’s been four days and Louis has yet to show any signs of waking up. ‘Anything up to a week is completely normal,’ Dr Steele says. It’s hard though, trying not to worry when that very boy is all that’s clouding your mind.

The waiting room has been considerably more crowded since Louis’ transfer, restrictions looser here than in the ICU. Friends and family alike are coming and going and returning all day long, people Harry’s met several times before along with faces he barely recognizes. That’s why, as Liam and he come back from the small hospital cafeteria, they don’t take any particular notice of the slouching figure outside the entrance to the David Marsden Ward.

Three hours later, at nine pm when most of the visitors have left and the calm is once again settling over the blue hospital hues, Harry decides to go outside for a minute, breathe some cold London air into his lungs. However, things don’t go quite as planned. Because hunched against the wall in the fluorescent light is the exact same figure they casually walked past before.

Harry stops in his tracks.

Has the man not moved an inch during this whole time? It doesn’t look like it. Harry wants to keep on walking, go and breathe his air and return to Louis’ window and ignore this whole situation, which probably, most definitely, isn’t even a situation. The guy undoubtedly has a reason as to why he’s been standing there and if he wants to continue standing there then Harry sure isn’t going to stop him. It’s not his business, after all.

Despite this, Harry can’t take another step. He’s stuck, frowning with his eyes trained on the person, a nagging feeling telling him to find out what is going on.

“Visiting hours are over,” he says shortly, which - okay that introduction could’ve perhaps been better. The man raises his head at least, attention drawn to Harry.

He looks to be in his mid-twenties, dark blonde hair askew and clothes a bit rumpled. He almost resembles a deflated balloon, the way his tall stance appears to shrink under an undefinable weight, expression weary and sad. It sends a pang of sympathy surging through Harry, a swelling in his gut because of the misery that’s reflecting back into his own eyes, pain he recognises all too well.

The man remains silent, eyes having yet to leave Harry.

All right. Might as well try and restart the conversation then.

“Uh, sorry. I didn’t mean to sound rude. I obviously don’t know if you- Well. Anyway, I’m Harry,” he says, even though he suspects that this is already known information.

Blinking and seemingly coming out of his stupor, the guy straightens and gives Harry’s outstretched hand a light shake. “Yeah, no it’s fine,” he rushes, voice deep but lacking assurance, smile feeble and weak. Retracting his hand, he tugs fruitlessly at the ends of his hair, eyes flacking nervously back and forward, something bordering on fear written in them. “My name is, um-” He cuts himself off, clearing his throat. “Martin Thomson.”

 _Martin Thomson._ There’s a bell ringing at that name. Harry’s definitely heard it before, somewhere…

Then it clicks, and it feels like the floor drops from under his feet. He’s completely frozen, staring, shocked to the point where he can hardly breathe.

It can’t be true. _No fucking way_ is this actually happening _._ Harry had never expected to ever have to face this moment. The mere thought had been alarming, because the things he might be possessed to do in this situation if he lost control was downright scaring him.

And yet now here they are - Martin standing a few feet away from Harry, solid and real and the reason why Louis is injured.

Before Harry regains the ability to speak, Martin carries on. “I can’t express with words how sorry I am. It was all my fault and I know you must hate me so much, and that you don’t want me here. I promise I’ll leave, I just-” he exhales, a hand rubbing slowly down his pale face. “I can’t stop thinking about it. I can’t sleep, can’t do anything because my mind keeps replaying it, the accident, over and over again. And it’s fucking killing me, and I couldn’t just sit there while guilt and shame ate me away and not do anything about it. So, I came here. To apologize, even though I know it doesn’t make anything better. And-“ he halts, mumbling the last bit quietly. “To see him, if you’ll let me.”

Harry still struggles to comprehend the situation. Uncontrollable rage and anxiety is pulsing hot in his blood, he can’t help it. But the sight of glistening tears in Martin’s eyes, broken and vulnerable and so sad, inevitably puts a damper on his emotions. Harry’s heart isn’t made of stone in the end, and it’s obvious how much this is tormenting Martin. And as much as it makes his insides twist, welcoming Martin to share their space, does he have a choice, really?

“I-” A group of medics rushing them by in that moment interrupts Harry. They take an immediate turn, in through the doors he had exited not five minutes ago, Dr. Steele one of them. To Harry’s horror, Liam’s panicked voice carries out into the corridor at the same time. “Where’s Harry?! Someone’s got to get Harry!”

In that moment Harry forgets everything else and makes his lead-filled limbs carry him into the ward. Everyone is gathering by the window, what’s outplaying before them completely unknown to Harry, a fact that's filling him with such dread he can’t even-

“Harry! Thank God you’re here.” Zayn grabs him halfway across the floor, hands coming up to clutch his shoulders tightly, eyes wild and fixed intently on Harry’s. “They say Louis is waking up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that was probably massively boring because like nothing happens. Oh well. It is what is is, isn't it? Anyway thank you loads for reading! Every single one of you is a precious gem and you make me very happy ^^  
> [tumblr](http://magicalsparrow.tumblr.com) ...say hi?


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